


Shameless

by helens78



Series: Shameless [3]
Category: Equilibrium RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Slavery, Barebacking, Boot Worship, Gangbang, Multi, One of My Favorites, Painplay, Rough Sex, Slavery, humiliation (physical), humiliation (verbal), two-top relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-10-16
Updated: 2009-10-15
Packaged: 2017-10-04 20:24:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 32
Words: 97,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helens78/pseuds/helens78
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Christian's been a slave trainer at a slave brokerage company for a very long time--ever since he stopped being a slave himself. For the first time, he's met someone he'd actually like to own, a new slave named Sean. Christian's lover, Bill, is understanding and supportive--and very interested in bringing Sean home--but Christian isn't sure it's such a good idea. He'd better think fast, though, because he's not the only one interested in Sean.</p><p>There are other editions of this work:<br/><a href="http://helensfic.net/bill/shameless-novel.html">Illustrated edition with artwork from acquiescence_</a> (<a href="http://acquiescence_.livejournal.com">link to acquiescence_'s LJ</a>)<br/><a href="http://helensfic.net/ebooks/shameless-novel.html">eBook edition (HTML)</a><br/><a href="http://helensfic.net/ebooks/shameless-novel.prc">eBook edition (Mobipocket/Kindle)</a></p><p>All above versions are complete.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. New Assignment

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ennorwen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ennorwen/gifts).



> Many hugs and thanks to telesilla for the beta work! Hugs and thanks to darkrose for extra encouragement! And love to the adorable husband, who was really sweet, supportive, and encouraging, even during the week where I was writing 7000 words a day and wandering about the house looking rather lost, saying stuff like "MY BRAIN IS EMPTY" and "OH MY GOD THE WORDS". :) This was a couple years in the making, originally meant to be Jaice (ennorwen)'s livelongnmarry project, and it is very very late, but I hope it'll be worth it. :)
> 
> The Shameless universe has been seen in other stories, which you can see on my website (or listed as part of the series in AO3).
> 
> Specific story elements are listed in the tags; while this story is about sexual slavery (and therefore carries the inherent consent issues of slavefic), all characters involved would say that the sex they have in this story is completely consensual.

When the alarm starts buzzing, it's Bill who reaches across Christian to turn it off. He doesn't roll back to his side of the bed when he's done, either; he stays curled up behind Christian, arm draped over his chest, face pressed against the back of Christian's neck.

He's got morning wood, too, which is the first thing that catches Christian's attention. Christian shifts, rolls over underneath Bill's arm, and he pushes Bill back into the pillows, all without bothering to open his eyes. He rolls on top of Bill, pushing Bill's thighs apart, and as Bill's arms settle around his back, Christian nuzzles at Bill's face until his mouth finds Bill's, and he kisses him, humming softly as Bill opens his mouth and lets him in.

Bill feels so good under him; he keeps himself in terrific shape, and unlike Christian, it's not required by his work contract. It's just because he wants to look good, because he wants to look good for Christian--and, as Christian finally blinks his eyes open, all he can think is that Bill looks fucking amazing.

Christian pushes himself up on his hands, grinning as Bill slides his hands to Christian's ass and rocks his hips up. Bill's still half-asleep, eyes mostly closed, but he manages to murmur, "You got time?"

"Always." Christian bends down and kisses Bill's forehead, then reaches over to the nightstand for lube and a condom. Bill stretches, arms going up above his head, and Christian chuckles at him. "Don't do that if you don't mean it."

"Hmm?" Bill looks up above his head, as if noticing where his hands are. He grins at Christian and wraps his hands around the bars on the headboard. Christian grins right back at him, and he's quick with the condom; morning sex is pretty common around here, but that's not something he gets every day.

He lubes up two fingers and slides them into Bill; Bill hisses softly and squirms.

"Still a little sore?"

"Yeah--" Bill puts his teeth together and groans as Christian twists his fingers from side to side. "Last night--a little bit, yeah."

"You need me to go easy?"

Bill frowns down the bed at him. "Who are you and what have you done with Christian?"

Christian laughs. "I'm not _that_ bad," he says, pushing Bill's legs apart a little further and settling down between them again. He starts pressing in, and Bill takes a deep breath, forcing his body to relax. Christian watches Bill's face as he sinks in deeper and deeper--Bill's taking it, but he's obviously more than a "little bit" sore, and he grits his teeth together as Christian pushes in that last inch or two. Christian groans himself, sliding his hands up Bill's sides, all the way up his arms to his wrists, and pins Bill's wrists flat against the mattress. "God, you're so fucking hot," he murmurs. He pulls back just a couple inches and rocks forward again, hips pumping slowly against Bill's ass. Bill gasps out loud and squirms, wrists pressing against Christian's grip. "_So_ good..."

"Yeah," Bill murmurs. He licks his lower lip, and Christian can't resist: he follows the swipe of Bill's tongue with one of his own, slower, his tongue licking into the corner of Bill's mouth. Bill parts his lips a little more, and Christian kisses him, hands tightening on Bill's wrists.

"I want to fuck you so hard," Christian murmurs.

Bill laughs. "Kind of got that impression."

"You sure you don't want me to take it easy?"

Pinned under him, legs spread and ass clenched tight around Christian's cock, Bill still manages to smirk like he's got the upper hand here. The challenge in that smirk makes Christian growl, eyes narrowing as he looks down at Bill. They're both grinning as Christian draws his hips back and slams forward, but the grin on Bill's face immediately drops into a gritted-teeth expression, one that says he needs all his concentration to get through the pain this is about to cost him.

It's fucking _gorgeous_.

But he can take it. They've been together long enough that Christian knows he doesn't have to hold back. He slams in not just with the strength from his hips, but with his whole body, curling up and driving forward and forcing Bill to take it. Bill's not shouting yet, but his breathing's tight and fast and controlled, focused on the rhythm Christian's got going, taking each thrust and nodding for another. Christian doesn't stop, doesn't let up, not even when Bill's breaths turn into groans and then explode into those loud, almost-angry shouts of his. The shouts don't slow Christian down any--Bill's one of the strongest men Christian's ever fucked, and Christian knows this isn't going to break him.

He bends his head down and licks up the side of Bill's neck; Bill turns his head to the side to give Christian more access. Christian sinks his teeth in, bites and sucks and then moves lower, biting at the curve where neck meets shoulder, and Bill moans, long and low. Christian pulls back and takes a look at his handiwork: he's left a bruise near Bill's shoulder that'll show for the next couple days. He grins and licks across the bruise one more time, then gets his lips to Bill's ear and murmurs, "I fucking love this."

Bill's gone non-verbal; all Christian gets out of him is a nod and a groan.

"You know how hot you are this way?"

Bill laughs at that and tugs his wrists against Christian's grip again; Christian pushes up, bracing himself, and starts pounding in hard, the last solid, deep thrusts giving Bill everything he's got. There's sweat dripping down his chest as he gets close, and Bill's struggling against him, nodding hard--_yes_ coming from him clear as the words he can't get out--and finally it's too much, and Christian's hips snap forward with a jerky, rough motion as he comes, groaning through it, thrusting until the need to be buried deep inside Bill outweighs the need for the incredible sensation of moving into him over and over.

He collapses on Bill's chest, hands still gripping Bill's wrists. Bill bends his head up and kisses the top of Christian's head, nuzzling at him just a little.

Christian grins; Bill laughs at him. "Look who's fucking smug."

His voice is hoarse, and Christian thinks, _from the shouting. I did that to you._ It doesn't make him any less smug.

"You gonna do something for me now?" Bill asks softly.

"Mmmm."

Bill nuzzles the top of Christian's head again; it's the only part of him Bill can reach. "You wanna watch me?" he whispers.

Christian tilts his head up and blinks at Bill; it's worth getting his vision clear for that, so he nods and rolls over, finally letting Bill's wrists go. They're marked, too, red handprints against Bill's tanned skin, but those marks will fade in an hour or so. It's too bad; coming home to Bill with marks all over would be fantastic. _Probably lead to him getting more marks, though..._

Bill sits up, slowly, wincing as he does, and he gets onto his knees, turning to face Christian. Christian rolls on his side and watches as Bill spreads his legs apart and slides his hands up his thighs, left hand cupping his balls as his right hand starts stroking his dick.

"Yeah," Christian murmurs. He doesn't take his eyes off Bill, but he does get the condom off, tossing it aside for the moment--he'll get it later or the service staff will, one or the other. Watching Bill's a lot more important right now.

And Bill knows how good he looks, knows what it does to Christian to see Bill kneeling and jerking off for him with Christian's marks still coloring his skin. He licks his lips as he watches, as Bill's hand turns into a blur of motion, and when Bill's hips start snapping forward, Christian reaches down to his own cock, squeezing it lightly. Only half-hard, and he does have to go to work, but God, Bill looks good this way.

"Close," Bill warns, and Christian comes forward, pushing Bill's hands out of the way and replacing them with his own--one hand cupping Bill's balls, the other one wrapped around the shaft, and he sucks the head into his mouth, sucking hard while he jerks Bill off nice and fast. Both of Bill's hands come down; he buries them in Christian's hair, tugging and pulling as he thrusts forward, and Christian puts up with it, puts up with it because it's only fair, because Bill looks so goddamned hot this morning, because he took a rough fuck after last night's rough fuck against the kitchen counter and he _deserves_ to come down Christian's throat after a morning like this.

When he's finished, Christian licks up the last of Bill's come and draws away, and Bill collapses on his side. Christian bends forward and kisses him, and Bill grimaces and pulls back.

"Come and morning breath," Bill says. "C'mon."

Christian laughs at him. "Picky, picky, picky..."

"It's like orange juice and toothpaste."

"You didn't complain about the morning breath earlier." Christian's still grinning as he swings himself out of bed, heading for the bathroom. "And I was kissing the hell out of you then."

"You were also _fucking_ the hell out of me," Bill calls after him. He yawns, and as Christian starts brushing his teeth, Bill climbs out of bed and pads into the bathroom. "I give you a little slack on the morning breath if you're fucking me."

"You give me all kinds of things if I'm fucking you," Christian says, but mumbled as it is through a mouthful of toothpaste, Bill just raises an eyebrow at him and starts brushing his teeth, too. Christian finishes, spits, repeats himself, and Bill laughs.

They have time for a quick breakfast after they shower, thanks largely to Bill's service staff--Christian's usual espresso and Bill's herbal tea are waiting for them downstairs along with English muffins and some jam--and Christian kisses Bill good-bye before slipping into his motorcycle jacket and heading out to the garage. He's grinning as he puts on the helmet, as he swings his leg over the bike and rolls it out of the garage; he grins all the way to work. _You're a lucky fucking bastard,_ he thinks to himself, and when he hands his helmet and his keys to the valet at Eclipse, he's still thinking it. He walks inside whistling.

* * *

"Good morning, Mr. Bale." The staff secretary--a fortyish former slave named Joe--nods at him as he walks into the office suite; he takes Christian's jacket and hangs it up in the coat closet. "You've got an assignment ready to go this afternoon; the file's on the table."

"One-on-one, or just an afternoon kind of thing?"

"One-on-one."

Christian nods; that makes sense. It's been a while since he had anybody for one-on-one training; his name was due to come up in the staff rotation. He wonders whether this is someone he needs to train as a sub or train as a top; he's good with both, but there's a lot more demand for submissive slaves than dominant ones, so he's guessing it's going to be sub training. He sighs.

Joe's giving him a wry little grin. "You okay with that? I think Vanessa's free--"

"No, no, you don't have to get Vanessa," Christian says immediately. He grimaces at himself; Joe may be perceptive, but that sigh was a dead giveaway of Christian's mixed feelings about one-on-ones. "Just hoping this one goes well."

"Don't most of them?"

The grin on Joe's face says he's trying to be lighthearted about it, but Christian shakes his head anyway, unable to keep himself from taking it seriously. "Most of them, yeah, but there's that one guy in a dozen who just hates everything about being here, or there's the ones where you have no chemistry with them whatsoever. Those assignments just drag on and on..."

"Bet it won't be a problem with this one."

Christian quirks an eyebrow at him. Joe knows Christian's type--_no, don't put it like that, Christ, they're not here to serve **you**_. Rather, Joe's familiar with the sort of people Christian's gotten along with in the past few years. He's a pretty good judge of these things, anyway. "Let's hope."

"Can I get you anything while you're looking his file over?"

"Not just yet--thanks, Joe."

Joe disappears into his office, closing the door quietly behind him, and Christian goes over to the seating area, sprawling across his favorite couch--the blue leather one that faces the windows. He leans over to the coffee table and picks up the file, flipping it open and propping it up on his chest.

The first thing in the file is the assignment's picture, or rather, pictures: there's a head shot and a full-body shot, with the assignment dressed in the usual beginning slave's uniform: tight white t-shirt, loose drawstring pants. The assignment's name is Sean, he's about 45--Bill's age--and he's quite good-looking. Blond, longish hair, narrow green eyes, nice smile. He's in good shape, too: not as good as Bill, maybe, but good enough Christian can already imagine the way Sean would look tied to a St. Andrew's cross. The only tricky thing might be his age; men in their forties aren't the easiest to place, as Joe would be the first to complain. Then again, there are always other factors; Christian sets the photographs aside and looks at the fact sheet a bit more closely. Referred by Karl Urban--David Wenham's domestic companion. He could dig up a few more details on them, but he remembers double-teaming a few people with David before David bought Karl, seeing them around Eclipse from time to time; they're both rough players, as far as Christian knows, which means this Sean's probably looking for something along those lines. Interesting that he's never shown up before. Christian keeps reading; maybe there's a reason he hasn't.

And there's the red flag: _one-month intensive training period, six-month contract pending training._ "Thrill-seeker," Christian mutters. "God, there are more like you every year." He tosses Sean's folder back onto the table and rubs at his face.

The door to Joe's office opens; Christian looks up as Joe pokes his head up. "Did you say something, sir?"

Christian sits up. "When am I meeting this guy?" He holds up the folder.

"Four o'clock. Is there a problem with the assignment?"

"I'm not sure. Do we have video on him?"

"Of course."

"Let's have it, then." Christian sits up and touches the coffee table, and the video surface comes to life. He navigates through the menus until he finds Sean's introduction video, and he rests his chin on his hands while he watches.

It's the same interview everyone does when they first arrive at Eclipse; Christian remembers doing one himself, years ago. Sean's seated at a table, and the interviewer's off-camera. Sean's in uniform already, though Christian can only see him from the waist up. He's filling out that t-shirt very nicely, though. He's also fidgeting.

_"State your first name, please."_

"Sean."

"Why are you here at Eclipse, Sean?"

Sean licks his upper lip. Christian grits his teeth. He's more attractive in video than he was in the photographs, and the tongue trick makes it that much worse.

_"I'm looking for something I haven't been able to find outside."_

"Explain that, please?"

"I'd like to be under someone else's control. Fully."

"But you're not here because of financial difficulties."

"No."

"You know you'll be under the same financial terms as the other domestic companions. You'll be paid for your work, and you can't opt out of your contract once it's been signed. This is a legally-binding contract, standard in the industry, and unlike general service positions, there's no provision for you to leave the contract until the term is up."

Sean's nodding through most of that. _"I'm aware of that."  
_  
Christian wonders what it's like for Sean, walking into a domestic companion contract. He's old enough to remember back before the laws were changed, back to the days when "domestic companion" meant "live-in prostitute" and not "slave in everything but name". But maybe only barely--Bill's said he remembers being a kid and knowing there was a lot of controversy about the end of at-will clauses on domestic companion contracts, but he didn't really understand why at the time. Everyone calls it slavery now--it's slavery and ownership everywhere but the actual legal contracts--but not everyone walks into it when it's not their last resort. Christian sighs and goes back to the video.

_"Our standard contract for prospective domestic companions without financial need is one month's intensive training and six months subcontracted. If you don't finish the training, we won't place you, and we'll recommend against placement to our sister agencies as well. We're very serious about what we do, Sean. If you have even the least bit of doubt, this isn't something you should sign up for."_

"I know. I understand." Sean glances down at the table, then back up at his interviewer. _"I'm taking it seriously."_

Christian pauses the video. Something about the look in Sean's eyes is different from most thrill-seekers. Most of them go into it for fun, for the game, thinking they'll get to play the part of someone's whipping boy, get a spanking here and there, and mostly it'll be about rough sex and safewords. The vast majority of those people don't last a week in training; Christian remembers a girl who asked him, "But this isn't what it's _really_ like, is it?" after her first week was up.

"It's very much like this," he told her, "except sometimes you're bored for a hell of a lot longer, and sometimes your owner's going to be an unpredictable bastard in ways you don't like and can't say no to." She pulled out of the training; Christian has no doubt she's better off for it.

Sean, though--Christian recognizes that look of fierce determination, and it's got nothing to do with chasing an adrenaline rush. Christian's seen it from other men and women he's trained, ones who _did_ need the work, but who were clearly in it for more than that. Some of them have landed good placements; others have struggled to find the right owner. Eclipse is a good agency, and their clients are usually decent people, but a mismatch can be devastating to people like that.

Like Sean, maybe.

Christian wipes the table surface and sits back on the couch, sighing. _It couldn't have been something easy, could it? A cocky little bastard who needs an attitude adjustment, someone who needs help with his oral technique._

He heads to Joe's office and knocks on the door.

"Come in!"

Christian opens the door. "Hey, I'm heading downstairs to the coffee bar. If anyone comes looking for me, have them call my cell or track me down there, okay?"

"No problem. Know when you'll be coming back?"

"I'll be back by three-thirty."

"Okay. Are we still good to go with your assignment this afternoon?"

"I'll be ready for him."

"See you later, then."

"See you."


	2. Meet Your Trainer

Four o'clock in the goddamned afternoon. Sean's stomach is in knots; he's never been this nervous before. _They couldn't have made it an eight o'clock meeting? Ten o'clock, even noon. Jesus God, the waiting is going to kill me._

It's a test, of course. Of his patience, his ability to occupy himself even when something huge is on the horizon. He understands that. Still, he's got six hours to kill, and the room they've got him in doesn't exactly have a lot of amenities--there's a media screen and an e-reader with a link to the house library, a tiny balcony, and if he wants to leave the room, he's got free access to the cafeteria, the gardens, and the gym. He's not sure he _does_ want to leave, though, not in his current frame of mind. He'd probably try to drop to his knees for the first person he runs into, and that's not the kind of impression he wants to make here.

_Desperate--they probably know that already. Desperate, with no sense of discrimination or self-control? They'll have me out on my ass in a matter of minutes._

So he spends a few hours reading, takes lunch in his room, wanders out to the balcony and looks at the inner courtyard. There are two of them, Sean's been told--one for slave use only, and one for visiting owners and the slaves they're working with that day. Sean's room, like most slaves' rooms, looks out onto the slaves-only courtyard, which is beautifully landscaped. There are people taking walks around the grounds, people reading, talking, enjoying the summer weather. Most of them look happy.

He goes back inside and turns on the media screen, flipping through channels and movie options. He picks a mind-numbing action movie at random, and he stretches out on the bed to watch it. Three more hours. He can make it another three hours.

The movie's pretty much useless; all Sean can think about is what's coming, who his trainer might be, what he'll end up doing today. He climbs out of the bed and runs through the basic positions they taught him at his interview, things they said his trainer would expect him to know: present, kneeling with palms up; hands and knees, face pointed at the ground; parade rest, hands behind his back; flat on his stomach, face on the floor, hands laced behind his neck. It doesn't calm him down at all; if anything, it does the opposite, because he starts imagining what it's going to be like doing this for a trainer. He takes a long, cold shower at a quarter past three, teeth chattering when he gets out of it.

At 3:45, there's a knock on the door, and Sean runs his fingers through his hair before taking a deep breath and answering it. The woman standing there is the same one who interviewed him; she smiles. "Hello, Sean. Are you ready?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Follow me, please."

They head through the slave quarters and into the main lobby; at the elevator bank, there are no buttons, just prox-card readers, and she waves a card across one of them. The elevator's already there, and they step inside, where she waves the card again and then presses the button for the fourth floor. It's all Sean can do not to fucking _bounce_.

She glances at him out of the corner of her eye. "Excited?" she asks.

It seems kind enough; she's not obviously making fun of him. "Yes, ma'am."

"I hope you'll find what you're looking for, Sean, but what we do here isn't a vacation or a fantasy. It's _work_, and it's not glamorous."

He shakes his head. "No--no, I understand that."

"Good." The elevator comes to a stop, and she leads Sean out and down the hallway. The hall's all wood and glass, with unusual offices--but then, what's usual in a place like this? The offices are full of couches and coffee tables, no desks in sight. They tend to have a fair amount of open space, too, away from the seating area. Some of them have the shades drawn, and Sean notices someone reading a newspaper with a girl kneeling at his side. She's wearing the basic slave's uniform, with drawstring pants and a tank top instead of the t-shirt Sean picked out; she looks about twenty. She has long brown hair and perfectly manicured nails, and she catches Sean's eye as he walks past. She winks.

He turns his attention back to his escort, wondering if he's blushing again. _You've got to learn to stop that. Christ._

They stop at the fourth office on the right. Sean doesn't see anyone in the room, but there's a door on the left wall, and Sean's escort leads him into the room, gesturing to the couches. "Anywhere you like," she says. "It'll just be a moment."

He nods and takes a seat on one of the couches--they're all different colors, all of them facing a central coffee table. The table has a file with Sean's name on it, and Sean stares for a moment, wondering what it says about him. He takes a seat on the couch facing away from the hallway; the fewer distractions he has right now, the better.

His escort's over at the inner door, and she knocks lightly on it before opening it up. "Christian? Your assignment's here."

A moment later, she turns around, and a man--Sean's _trainer_\--follows her back into the office. Sean starts to stand up, then wonders if he should do anything without orders. He ends up sitting back down as his trainer walks over to him. His trainer's gorgeous--dark brown hair, blue eyes, cheekbones that could cut glass. He's a little over six feet, Sean estimates. Jeans, black t-shirt, black motorcycle boots--ones that are well-worn and broken-in. Sean's glad he didn't stand up.

That relief doesn't last long. Christian nods at Sean, inclining his head as if to say _get up_. Sean's not sure how someone can get that message across with just a slight motion of his head, but he stands up anyway, trying not to think about how hard he is, how obvious that is in these pants.

"I'm Christian," he says. "I'll be working with you for the next month."

_And they think I'm going to have second thoughts._ "Yes, sir," Sean says. "Pleased to meet you."

Christian grins. "And your name is...?"

"Oh! I'm sorry, sir, I assumed you knew. I'm Sean."

"Come over here, please, Sean."

Christian leads Sean over to the open area and snaps his fingers, pointing dead center of it. "Parade rest."

With no instructions about which way to face, Sean turns so he's facing Christian. Sean puts his feet shoulder-width apart and gets his hands behind his back, each hand cupping the opposite elbow. Christian nods and starts walking around him; Sean stays facing straight ahead.

"Knees," Christian says. Sean folds himself down to a kneel, but he doesn't move his arms. Christian ends up at his other side; Sean doesn't look up at him. He can see Christian's boots out of the corner of his eye, though. "Present."

Sean puts his hands on his knees, palms up, and spreads his knees apart a little wider. Christian comes around to stand in front of him; Sean looks up. Christian isn't smiling; he looks very serious, and it makes Sean sit up straighter, trying to get his posture just right.

"Lace your hands behind your head."

Sean does it, still looking up at Christian. Christian looks him over, then circles him again. "Tell me why you're here, Sean."

"I'd like to find an owner, sir."

"Your file says you're not here out of financial need."

"No, sir."

"If the training works out for you, you'll be contracted to someone for six months, and there's no way out of it. Do you understand what that means?"

"I--think so, sir," Sean says quietly.

"How did you find your way to Eclipse?"

"I built some furniture for a man with a slave. The slave referred me here."

"Did this man fuck you?" Christian's behind Sean now, and he stops there.

"Yes, sir," Sean murmurs.

"Did his slave fuck you?"

Sean looks down at the ground. There's no way he can take these questions without blushing, without that curling sense of shame twisting through his gut. "Yes," he whispers.

"And you liked what they did with you."

"Yes, sir."

"Enough to spend a month training to do it for someone else. Someone you don't know. Someone you can't choose, who you won't be able to leave just because you're not attracted to them or they're not fucking you the way you like to be fucked."

"I--" Sean licks his lips and swallows. He's thinking about David again, about Karl. He can't help it. David telling Karl _Any way you want, boy; he'll like whatever you give him_, and Karl proving David right. "I'm here, sir."

"I could spend a month _not_ fucking you. Not even touching you. Sometimes an owner will buy slaves just to know he can take them at any time, but he doesn't get around to using them. You could spend a month crawling the walls with boredom."

"That part's not new, sir."

Christian laughs at that, and Sean feels some of the tension come out of his shoulders. "How good is your job, Sean?" he asks. "You're making enough money to stay above water; you're not living in government-controlled property. You obviously don't go hungry. What's going to happen if you're out of work for seven months?"

"My contract with Eclipse says I'll be compensated--"

"You will, but are you going to have work waiting for you after seven months?"

"Yes, sir."

"You're sure about that."

"My work is word-of-mouth, sir, and I'll still have references waiting for me when I'm done here." _If I'm done here._

Sean can't see him, but he can feel it when Christian kneels down behind him. Christian slides up close, his chest pressed to Sean's back, his thighs to either side of Sean's, and he slides one hand onto Sean's thigh while the other one goes to Sean's stomach, fingers splayed out. Sean closes his eyes.

"Everyone has limits, Sean," Christian murmurs. "This month it's my job to find yours. You're not going to like everything I do to you." The hand on Sean's thigh moves over and cups Sean's cock; Sean groans. "That probably seems damned hard to believe right now..." He dips his head down and licks the side of Sean's neck, then sinks his teeth in, gentle at first and then harder. Sean hisses, but he doesn't move. Christian squeezes his cock, and Sean pushes his hips forward. Christian lets the bite go, lets Sean's cock go, and Sean's left panting and hurting and _wanting_.

He can feel Christian's cock, hard and pressed against his ass. Christian wants him, too. The realization's enough to make Sean shiver. "Please," he whispers. "Anything."

Christian puts both hands on Sean's thighs and rests his forehead against Sean's arm for a moment. It's so quiet in here Sean can almost hear his own heart thudding in his chest, can hear Christian breathing softly behind him.

When Christian lifts his head again, Sean's expecting an order, but instead there's a long pause, and Christian takes a slow, deep breath. "It's too early for 'anything'."


	3. Chemistry

Christian doesn't really want to let Sean off his knees, but they've got things to do today, things that shouldn't wait. "Come on," he murmurs. "On your feet. We're going to get you fitted for some gear."

Sean stands up, Christian coming up with him, and Christian leads Sean out of the office and over to the elevator banks. He passes his prox card over the scanner and turns to look Sean over again. Sean meets Christian's eyes for half a second and then quickly looks away, facing straight forward, sliding his hands behind his back. He's still hard, but he's not the only one. Christian adjusts his own cock, then slips a thumb into one of his belt loops and keeps looking at Sean.

Good instincts. Obedient. Aroused just by being here, just by having someone dominant looking after him. It's a damn shame about his age; if he were in his early twenties, there are any number of people who'd be happy to take him on, people Christian can personally vouch for. Mid-forties, the choices--and chances--get a lot bleaker. _Why the hell are you giving up a solid job for this?_

They step into the elevator, and Christian waves his card and presses the button for the ground floor.

"Sir?"

Christian looks at Sean, one eyebrow raised. Sean's starting to flush a little, his cheeks looking a bit red, and Christian files that away for later. _Humiliation play; we'll work with that. And you probably come up red if someone so much as breathes on your skin too hard. I need to get you under a belt._

He hasn't answered, but he hasn't told Sean not to ask questions, either. He's curious what Sean makes of that. Sean clears his throat. "If it's all right to ask, sir, I wondered what you meant by 'gear'."

"You're free to ask questions unless you're told otherwise," Christian says. The elevator comes to a stop, and Christian leads Sean down the hall, away from the slave section of the building and toward the work department. "Most of the tools we use for training are made on-site by people with craft skills. We have a workshop for furniture, a tailoring department, and where we're going right now is the leather workroom." Christian glances back at Sean as he opens the door to the leather room; the whole place smells of leather, and Sean reacts the way Christian was guessing he would. He swallows, hard, and scans the room as if he doesn't know where to look first.

Callie's at one of the worktables, cutting a long piece of leather into strips; James is using one of the sewing machines to stitch an edging onto a collar. Debbie's at her computer, probably looking over inventory and stock listings. She's the first one to notice Christian and Sean, and she comes over, smiling.

"Hello there. Who's the new boy?"

"This is Sean. He's on day one of his one-month training course."

Debbie's eyes narrow a little, and she nods, then looks Sean over head-to-foot. He nods back at her. "Ma'am."

She laughs at that. "Oh, God, I have to start wearing the 'I'm nobody's ma'am' shirt to work again, don't I?" She offers her hand to Sean. "I'm staff, honey, I'm not an owner or a slave." Christian remembers when she _was_ a slave, of course, but it's been years since then, and she's been doing administrative work for Eclipse ever since. "My name's Debbie."

"Sorry, m--" Sean catches himself just in time and grins. Christian's almost rocked off his feet; it's the first unguarded smile he's seen from Sean, and it's gorgeous. "Sorry. You already know I'm new here--I have a lot to learn."

"Do you ever." She smiles back at him, then turns to Christian again. Christian thinks he's got his expression back in order, but maybe not; the calculating expression she gives him has to do with more than work, he bets. "So what do you need?"

"Let's start with a collar, cuffs--wrist and ankle--a leash, and a blindfold."

"Need a belt?"

"I'll use my own."

Sean's head snaps to the left, and his eyes are wide as he looks at Christian. He looks down at Christian's belt--it's a plain one today, no rivets, no grommets--and then blushes fiercely and looks down at the floor. Debbie gives him a wry smile, but he doesn't see it.

"Let me take some measurements, then. Come here, please, Sean."

There are measuring tapes all over, but Debbie leads Sean back to her computer, where she keys in his first name and brings up his profile. There's a spreadsheet for his measurements, and she's quick and efficient about taking them, getting his wrists and ankles and neck, all without letting her hands linger or making any pointed remarks. It wasn't so long ago that people weren't that careful, and Christian's glad things have changed around here for the better.

"All done," Debbie says. She puts her hand on Sean's arm and smiles at him. "I'll look over what we have in stock, and we'll send it up when it's ready."

"Thank you," Sean says.

Christian keys in his initials for Debbie's work order; she nods at him. "Any color preferences?"

"Brown or black, if you can, but I'd like it all to match."

"Oh, that'll be easy. Take care, both of you."

"Thanks, Debbie. You, too."

Christian guides Sean out of the workroom, and Sean breathes a little easier once they're gone. "Overwhelmed?" Christian asks.

"A little, sir." Sean looks at him, grins a bit. "Any idea how long it'll take?"

"Not that long. Which means we might as well get you up to my room."

"Oh." Sean's eyes widen. "Yes, sir."

The trainers' quarters are a mirror image of the slaves' quarters, although there are far fewer rooms in this wing of the building; the rooms are three to four times as big, to allow for training, and most trainers don't live on Eclipse grounds. For all that there are fewer people here, Christian and Sean still pass by a few different people, all of whom greet Christian and give Sean appraising looks. Sean blushes at the attention, but he doesn't seem intimidated by it. That's a good sign; Christian tends to worry about the shy ones.

Christian's room is neat and orderly, a three-room suite with high ceilings and lots of open space. He gives Sean a brief tour of everything, letting him look around and familiarize himself with the place. There's a seating area, a wet bar, and a mirrored wall in the first room, along with a hell of a lot of open floor; an imposing four-poster bed and even more open area in the second room, and the windows are floor-to-ceiling here, with full blackout curtains. There's no specialized furniture set up at the end of the room, but a phone call to the carpentry department would make that happen, so Christian doesn't worry about it. Both the outer room and the bedroom have media centers with huge screens, as well as a pair of e-readers, one on each side of the bed. There's a laptop on the coffee table in the seating area, too. "If you'd like a computer of your own, let me know, and I'll arrange it."

"Thank you, sir."

As for the third room, it's a bathroom with everything sized to absurd proportions: shower big enough, easily, for four, bathtub more akin to a hot tub, and as always, more mirrors.

Sean looks over his shoulder at Christian. "I think I like your room better than I like mine, sir."

Christian chuckles; he leads Sean back out to the seating area. "I bet you do. When you're not actively training, you're welcome to anything you want--food, drinks, entertainment, a good long soak in the tub. A lot of the slaves here are training in massage, so if you'd like one, you can call down for it. The only things that aren't free for use at your leisure are the tools and toys--if you want to use one of those, you need my permission. That doesn't mean you shouldn't ask. Unless I tell you otherwise, you're allowed to jerk off, to fuck yourself with the toys, anything else you'd like--but you need to ask first."

"I didn't realize--" Sean settles down in an armchair and puts his head in his hands for a minute, then looks up. "I haven't masturbated since Friday night before I came here. I figured it was against the rules."

_That explains why everything's getting him so hard_, Christian thinks, shaking his head. "Well, I'm glad to clarify that for you, but maybe we'd better get some of that tension out of your system now. We'll be working on orgasm denial later."

Sean looks back up at Christian and nods. "Christ, yes, _please_, sir."

"Stand up."

No hesitation; Sean stands, and Christian walks over to him. He strips Sean's shirt off; not that the t-shirt left much to the imagination, but Sean's in more than decent shape, muscles well-defined even if his overall body shape is slim. He doesn't go hungry; Christian knew that, but it's written all over Sean's body, too.

He doesn't have much chest hair, just a bit in the center. It might be worth shaving that, but they can always get around to that later. Christian runs his fingertips over Sean's chest, over his shoulders, down his arms. Sean shivers, and Christian slides his hands up Sean's chest, running his thumbs over Sean's collarbones.

"How do you feel about pain, Sean?" Christian asks.

"I--I don't know, sir," Sean says, but there's something about the way he won't meet Christian's eyes that tells Christian otherwise.

He takes Sean's chin between his thumb and forefinger and tilts his head up. "Look at me, Sean."

Sean takes a few short breaths, then looks up at Christian. Christian looks right into Sean's eyes--_God, they're so green_\--and asks again.

"How do you feel about pain, Sean?"

"I've never backed away from it, sir," Sean whispers, "but it scares the hell out of me."

"Why's that?"

"How do I know if someone's going to stop?"

"You don't." Christian shifts his grip to Sean's throat, holding on lightly; the grip's there for the psychological effect, not to cut Sean's air off. "You'll never know if they're going to stop, and sometimes maybe you'll like it and sometimes maybe they'll get it into their heads that they need to find something you absolutely fucking hate, and stomp that sensation into your skin." Sean's breathing harder now, lips pressed tight together, nostrils flaring a little with his breath. "We don't let them damage you--nothing permanent, no scars, no broken bones--but that doesn't mean they'll respect your limits. You don't get to set the limits."

Sean nods. "I know," he whispers.

"Have you ever been hurt in a way that got you off?"

"Yes." Sean's eyes drop to the floor, but Christian applies a hint of pressure to the sides of Sean's neck, and Sean looks up again. "Yes, sir."

"How?"

"I--" Sean licks his lips, and he drops his gaze again, but only for a fraction of an instant; his eyes are up on Christian's again before Christian can remind him. "I worked for someone who liked to spank people."

"And he did it to you?"

"She, sir--she did it to me. I was over her lap. She spanked me, and my cock was between her thighs, and I came before she could fuck me."

"What else?"

Sean closes his eyes and takes a deep breath; Christian rubs his thumb up and down the side of Sean's neck. "The slave who referred me here, sir," he says, finally looking back up at Christian. "He--his owner called him a sadist. He liked hurting people. He hurt me."

"How?"

Sean laughs sharply, and Christian recognizes it; it's sarcastic, but unlike some of the laughs he's heard, it isn't bitter. "More of how didn't he, sir. Everything from the way he fucked me to biting me to slapping me--my face. My cock. He never got to use anything else on me, just his hands, his teeth, his cock, but it was enough."

It's a normal enough part of a new training relationship, the questions, the answers, but it's rare for them to affect Christian as much as Sean's doing right now. _Slapping me--my face. My cock._ Christian can see it, can feel Sean's skin under his hands; the way his skin would go hot and red, the way Christian's palm would sting after hitting him, and how would Sean look at him during all this? Still desperate? Still wanting more?

Christian reaches down with his free hand and slowly, deliberately, unsnaps and unzips his jeans. He adjusts his cock, but doesn't get it out. Sean's staring, though, eyes fixed on Christian's crotch, and he licks his lips. Christian grins at that.

He brings his hand up to Sean's nipple and rubs his thumb over it; it only takes a quick pass to make Sean's nipple harden. "How about here?" he asks quietly. "Has anyone ever hurt you here?"

"The slave who--" Sean closes his eyes and takes a few slow breaths. "Who referred me. He bit them. Twisted them."

"Did you like it?" Christian rubs over the same nipple, harder this time.

"Yes, sir," Sean whispers. "I liked it."

Christian takes Sean's nipple between thumb and forefinger and pinches--hard, even pressure to start with. Sean groans, flinches, and Christian can feel Sean's heartbeat under his fingers, under the grip he's still got on Sean's throat. He takes his hand away, sweeps it down Sean's chest, and catches Sean's other nipple between thumb and forefinger, squeezing that one, too, increasing the pressure on both. Sean's eyes are closed, his lips parted, and he pants softly, groaning when Christian pinches harder, when he eases up just enough to get a better grip and then digs in again.

He's beautifully responsive, holding nothing back, and his cock's jerking with his breaths, bobbing up and down under his pants.

"Drop your pants, Sean," Christian murmurs. Sean undoes the drawstring and shoves the waistband down; the pants puddle around his ankles. This time Christian's the one licking his lips; Sean's cock is dark, thick, and uncut, his pubes are trimmed neatly, and he's leaking just a little, clear liquid welling up at the tip of his cock. Sean's one hell of a good-looking man; Christian's not worried about this assignment anymore. This one might actually be _fun_.

"Which hand do you normally use to jerk off with?" Christian asks.

Sean gets his eyes open. "My--my right, sir," he says; he licks his lips again.

_I'm going to fucking bite that the next time I see it,_ Christian thinks. If it's a nervous habit, it's a goddamned sexy one. "Show me. Don't show off; just show me what you usually do."

"I might come," Sean says, frowning, but he isn't hesitating; he's already got his hand on his cock.

"Then you'll come. It doesn't mean we're done here." God, no, it doesn't mean that; Christian's already imagining what it's going to feel like when he bends Sean over the back of the couch. _Maybe I'll beat him first; maybe I'll just spank him until his skin comes up red. Maybe he needs welts. Jesus, he's hot._

"No, sir," Sean says, and he starts up, not too slow, not too fast, just nice and steady with even pressure all the way down the length of his cock. He closes his eyes again, and he's panting even louder now, mouth open wide.

Christian takes his hand off Sean's left nipple and twists the right one, hard, to the left. Sean lets out a strangled groan; his hand speeds up on his cock.

"Did you like that?"

"Yes, sir!"

"Would you like me to do it again?"

"God, sir, _please_, yes--"

Christian does, this time holding the pinch, and Sean's moans come in time with his strokes, his hips shoving forward as he jerks off. Christian lets go and switches to Sean's other nipple. He doesn't ask this time; he just twists it, watches Sean's expression go from needy to pained, and Sean keeps moaning and panting as his hand stays fast and rough on his cock.

"Look at me," Christian murmurs. Sean blinks several times before getting his eyes back on Christian's face. "Tell me." He twists Sean's nipple again; Sean cries out, but he keeps his eyes open, keeps them locked on Christian's. "Have you ever come just from being hurt?"

"No, sir," Sean pants.

"You will," Christian promises, and Sean whimpers at that. That sound alone is enough to make Christian's cock ache, but he's got a job to do. "When I'm done with you, you will."

"Yes, sir, God, sir, _please_, please hurt me, sir, please, please--"

Both nipples at once: Christian gets his fingers on them and pinches _hard_, twisting them, and Sean gasps and bends forward, and his hand speeds up, and with a choked moan and a series of short, rasped grunts, Sean comes, jets shooting far enough that he leaves come streaked across Christian's thighs. Christian's eyes widen at that--more range than he was expecting--but as soon as Sean's finished coming, he takes his hands off Sean's nipples and catches Sean's wrist in his hand. There are a few drops of come on Sean's fingers, and Christian lifts Sean's hand to his own mouth, licking Sean's fingers, tasting him. Sean groans again, hand shaking in Christian's grip.

"Knees," Christian growls, pulling Sean down to the floor, and when Sean gets there, Christian sinks a hand into his hair and grips hard. "Lick that up. _Now._"

There's no play at being pretty, no attempt to make this look good; Sean dives straight in, face pressed to Christian's thighs, and he gets himself messy as he licks up the streaks. Christian can feel the heat from Sean's mouth as Sean works his way up one thigh, bottom of the streaks to the top, and when he switches sides, Christian can see the darkness of wet denim, damp spots left over from Sean's tongue.

He holds Sean's head in place on his other thigh, dragging his face up and down as Sean cleans him. He remembers how it felt to be on his knees, having his face dragged against denim; he also knows he never felt about it the way Sean obviously does. Christian could fake enthusiasm like this, but Sean's giving his all to it, and he looks eager and desperate and grateful all at once, moaning as his tongue moves up and down against Christian's thigh.

"Enough." Christian drags Sean away, pulls him up to his feet. He grabs Sean by the upper arm and walks him over to the couch--Sean trips for a moment as his feet get caught in his pants, but Christian steadies him and Sean kicks the pants all the way off--and he bends Sean over at the waist, kicking his legs apart. He bends down and puts a hand on the back of Sean's neck, squeezing hard. "Don't you fucking move a muscle. You stay right there. Understand?"

"Yes," Sean says, voice muffled against the cushions.

"Good boy." Christian stands up again--and he can't resist. He slaps Sean's right ass cheek, hard, hard enough to make Sean jump, but Sean keeps himself pressed down against the couch, and Christian almost groans as the red handprint comes up on Sean's skin. He does it again, and Sean jumps again, but this time he moans, too, and Christian has to take a step back.

_Condom. Get a condom._ He goes over to the coffee table and comes back with a condom, leaving the lube behind. It's too much, it's too soon, too rough, but this boy--_Sean, damn it_\--Sean can take it. He _knows_ Sean can take it.

He shoves his pants and boxer-briefs down to his thighs and rolls the condom on; for fuck's sake, he's leaking, too, turned on every bit as much by Sean as Sean was by him. He spits into his hand and strokes his cock with it, then reaches forward and puts his hand near Sean's mouth.

"Get them wet."

_Mistake_, he thinks, because as soon as Sean's got his fingers in his mouth, all Christian can think of is how Sean's mouth would feel around his cock. He sucks Christian's fingers like he's dying to do more, to taste more, and Christian yanks his hand back, breathing hard and feeling increasingly more unsteady on his feet.

He drives his fingers into Sean's ass, _hard_, wanting to see Sean hurting. It does look like it hurts--Sean arches and groans--but then he's pushing back against Christian's hand, and Christian groans, too.

"You shameless little slut," Christian growls.

"I--I--yes, sir--please fuck me, sir, please, hurt me, fuck me, please, sir, hard--" He's all but babbling now, and it's still one of the hottest things Christian's ever heard.

He draws his hand back and kicks Sean's legs apart even further, getting his cock lined up just right, and then he holds Sean's cheeks apart with his thumb while he pushes in, one sharp hard thrust with his hips. That's enough to get his cock two, maybe three inches inside him, and Sean yells, hands scrambling for purchase on the cushions.

"Oh, don't you _dare_ tell me you can't take this, boy," Christian snarls. He shoves forward again, harder, and sinks in another inch. Sean's moaning now, completely non-verbal, but he gets his grip settled on the edge of the cushions and he shoves back, shouting with pain as he does.

Christian puts both hands on Sean's hips and holds him down. "That's it," he growls. "I know this hurts. I know it hurts and I know you fucking _love it_," he says, and his hips snap forward, another two inches gone, and Sean moans, pants, tries to push back but finds himself held down hard. His breaths are coming so hard, so gasped, that he sounds like he's sobbing, and Christian snarls again, snarls because he _wants_ to see that, _wants_ to see Sean crying while Christian hurts him.

"Jesus fucking Christ," he moans, and he rocks back before pushing in again, and this time--God, yes, this time he sinks in to the root, hips pressed hard to Sean's ass, panting as he feels Sean's muscles clench tight around him. Sean's still making those sounds, those gorgeous desperate sobbing noises, and Christian stays just as he is for a minute, catching his breath, just absorbing the feel of Sean's body around his cock and the sounds Sean's making.

It's not enough, though, not what he needs, and when he starts moving, Sean yells out even louder. Christian rocks back and forth until he can actually thrust in hard, deep, until he can fuck Sean brutally and Sean's sounds come in time with the motions of Christian's hips. Christian's fingertips are digging into Sean's hips, and he knows Sean's going to bruise, and he wants that--wants to spend the next few days watching bruises go from red to purple to green on Sean's skin.

"Beg me," he growls. "Beg me to come in you." He doesn't think Sean can do it, doesn't think Sean can find words, but he waits for it anyway, waits and keeps slamming into him. _Come on, boy. Come on. Beg me._

"--nngh--s--sir--_unhh_, ahh, _fuck_\--sir--plea--_aah, please_," Sean yells, and Christian drives in deep and solid and _fast_, harsh quick strokes until he chokes off his own groan and comes, cock jerking over and over as he buries himself deep in Sean's body.

He's ticking off seconds in his head as he finishes, knowing he shouldn't take long to compose himself; Sean needs to collapse, and the bed would be better than the couch. Christian doesn't stand a chance in hell of getting them there, though, and the couch is comfortable enough.

A minute at most, he thinks, and he's off Sean and helping him around to the couch, watching Sean wince as he sits down and then helping him stretch out on his stomach. He ditches the condom and quickly gets his clothes back together, and he kneels down next to Sean, stroking his fingers through Sean's hair. Sean nuzzles at Christian's wrist, and Christian sighs inwardly, resting his hand on Sean's neck.

"I'm going to get you some water," he says; his voice is hoarse. "Do you need anything else?"

"No, sir," Sean mumbles. "Thank you, sir."

The wet bar isn't far away, thank God, and of course it's stocked with bottled water. Christian drains half a bottle just on his way back to Sean, and he opens Sean's bottle for him and sets it on the floor. "When you're ready."

Sean rolls over on his side and squints at Christian; he looks over the side of the couch and grabs for the bottle, getting it to his mouth and swallowing down the water in huge, thirsty gulps. Christian looks at Sean's nipples; they're reddened, but it'll fade soon enough.

"You did very well," he says.

Sean wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and puts the bottle down. "Thank you, sir," he says. "Anything else I can do?"

"You can nap, if you want." Christian grins.

"I might just do that," Sean says, chuckling. "Thank you, sir."

"You're welcome, boy." Christian frowns at himself. "Sean. You're welcome."


	4. Another Perspective

By the time Christian gets home, Bill's been through working for a couple of hours. It wasn't a particularly busy day; some email, a lot of security reviews he needed to handle, trying to bang out a patent application--it's his turn, and he still owes Barbara for pulling together the last one. Since coming out of the office, he's had time to sort through the mail, have dinner, and relax in front of the media screen for a while, catching up on his hockey. The screen flashes a quick message when Christian pulls in to the garage--_Christian's garage door open_\--and Bill grabs for the remote and punches the picture-in-picture button, getting it just in time to see Christian cutting the motor on his bike and taking his helmet off.

Even on the grainy security feed Christian looks good; Bill grins to himself at that. _You are such a lucky bastard, Fichtner._

He shuts down the media screen and eases himself up off the couch; between last night and this morning, he's spent most of the day sore. It's worth it, though. He heads into the kitchen, getting there just as Christian walks through the garage door.

"Welcome home," he says. "How was your day?"

Christian grins at him, sliding out of his motorcycle jacket and tossing it over the back of one of the chairs at the bar. "Pretty fucking good," he says. "I have a new one-on-one assignment."

Bill grins right back; when Christian's this happy about a one-on-one, things are liable to be good around the house for weeks. "Nice. What's he like? Or is it a she this time?"

Christian heads to the fridge and pulls out a bottled water, twisting the cap off and sucking down a few swallows before he answers. "It's a he. And--well. He's a thrill-seeker." He catches Bill's grimace and shakes his head. "It's not as bad as I thought at first. He's submissive as all hell, and he likes things rough. If it weren't for his age, I could think of half a dozen people with room for him."

"How old is he?"

"About your age."

Bill rolls his eyes. "Oh, ancient, huh?"

Christian puts his water down and walks across the room, blocking Bill in against the counter. Bill grins at him, and Christian comes in even closer, thighs pressed tight against Bill's, nose-to-nose with him. "Wasn't it talk like that that got you bent over the counter last night?"

"Hey, you gotta go with what works." Bill gives Christian a shit-eating grin and wraps his arms around Christian's shoulders. "So what was so good about today?"

"I have actual fucking chemistry with an assignment for a change." Bill's starting to realize how _much_ chemistry; Christian's hard, rubbing up against Bill and getting more insistent by the minute. "He's hot, he's not afraid of me, and he hasn't balked at anything yet. I just need to find out if he's going to stick with this or if he's going to go the fuck home where he belongs."

Bill winces. "You always say that about people who walk away from their jobs to come work for Eclipse..."

"I always say that because I'm _right_," Christian shoots back. "Slavery is what you do when you've got no choice in the matter. Thrill-seekers have another choice."

_It's not always that simple_, Bill thinks, but they've had this discussion. "Have you asked him why he's there?"

"He wants an owner." Christian shrugs. "Same thing they all think they want."

"Does he like you as much as you like him?"

Christian freezes; he pulls away from Bill, frowning. "It's not like that."

"Not like what? I just asked if he likes you."

"As much as I like him."

"I'm pretty sure that wasn't your cell phone digging into my thigh there," Bill says, looking pointedly at Christian's crotch. He notices Christian's jeans for the first time when he does that; they're stained, probably from someone--Christian's assignment--coming all over them and being made to clean them up. Hot as that sort of scene is, it never takes all the evidence away.

Christian looks away from him, jaw working. "It's not like that," he says again, more quietly this time. "It's a job. It's my _job_. I show them what they're getting themselves into, and most of them leave."

"He's still there, though?" Bill asks, just as quietly. Christian nods. "So all I'm asking is this: does he like what you're doing to him so far?"

"He sure as hell seems to."

"Did you take it easy on him?"

Christian snorts, shakes his head. "When was the last time I took anything easy on anyone?"

_I don't know. Before you met me._ It's not the kind of thing that would help right now, so Bill doesn't say it. "You're not scaring him off so far, though."

"No."

"He's a grown man, Christian. Maybe he knows what he's doing."

"None of them know what they're doing."

_Did you?_ Bill wonders. He knows better than to say that, either.

Christian rubs at his eyes. "I'm going upstairs," he says. "Come with me?"

Bill does, and when Christian gets undressed, Bill undresses with him. Christian slides into bed, and Bill goes, too, but tonight Christian isn't after sex. He curls up on his side, facing away from Bill, and Bill spoons up behind him, face pressed against Christian's shoulder. He wraps his arm around Christian's chest, and Christian laces his fingers into Bill's, squeezing hard.

They don't talk, and they don't sleep for quite a while, either, but Bill doesn't think about moving. He wakes up to the sound of the shower running, and though they don't talk about last night, Christian kisses him goodbye before he goes.


	5. Day Two

For the second time in three days, Sean wakes up in unfamiliar surroundings. He gets his eyes open and looks from one side of his bed to the other, and it hits him: he's in Christian's room. His trainer's room. He's actually in training to be someone's _slave_.

He drops back down, throwing an arm over his eyes. Christian's going to be back today, back soon, probably, and there'll be more to do. More sex. More pain. More position work.

_And you're already wishing he'd hurry up and get here so you can get started. He was right about you, you know. Shameless. Slut. He was right._

Sean gets himself out of bed; he showers, hangs up his towel, brushes his teeth, runs a comb through his hair, and heads back into the bedroom to make the bed and find fresh clothes. One of the dressers is full of the shirts and pants he's been wearing here; he slips them on and goes out to the seating room to call up for breakfast.

The box from the leather shop is still on the coffee table; it arrived last night while Sean and Christian were having dinner. Christian took it and didn't say a word about it, just letting it sit there. It was all Sean could think about, but he didn't ask. He's here to learn how to serve, not to have his wishes indulged.

Breakfast is quick--eggs and toast and jam--and Sean sets the tray back outside when he's done with it. He glances around the rooms again, looking back at the _other_ dresser, the one Christian pointed out as having the toys. He pauses in front of it.

_I can ask for permission to use toys; how am I supposed to know what to ask for if I don't know what's here?_ Reasonable enough. There's no reason not to look, then, and he opens up the top drawer.

The top drawer's full of insertable toys--dildos of every imaginable shape and size, butt plugs ranging from slimmer than someone's finger to ones that look bigger than a fist. Sean picks one of them up and stares at it; it looks and feels like silicone, but it's so heavy--he can't imagine keeping that inside him for long. Or how he'd work it in, in the first place. His thoughts flash back to Karl again, the things Karl said while he was fucking him--

_I want my fist in you, boy, and you'd take it, you'd beg for it, you'd let me open you up with both hands and just keep begging..._

\--and he clutches the plug harder before putting it down. He moves on to the next drawer.

This one's full of metal. Double clips by the handful. Leashes. A length of chain with two solid rings on either side, and it takes Sean several seconds of holding it before he realizes it's a choke-chain. There's a tiny metal cage of some kind complete with a padlock, some more tools Sean can't identify, and then at the end there's a leather case. He zips it open and raises an eyebrow; lots of metal rods, ranging from tiny and slim to the diameter of Sean's thumb, with flat ends. He puts them away, and looks into another case to find a dangerous-looking pinwheel of some variety.

The third drawer is a lot less confusing; there are floggers and slappers here, a number of different sorts made of different material. He strokes his fingers over a flogger with thick, heavy leather tails and takes a deep breath. This, at least, is familiar territory; a hell of a lot of the men and women he's worked for have had floggers, and a handful of them have used them on Sean, usually while he was bent over something. He wonders if he can ask Christian to use things on him, or if that's outside the boundaries of asking to use a particular toy.

There's a sound from the other room, and Sean shuts the drawer and heads out of the bedroom. It's Christian, and he looks every bit as good today as he did yesterday. Sean grins.

"Good morning, sir."

"Good morning." Christian grins back at him. "Did you sleep well?"

Sean shrugs. "Could have been better, could have been worse. New bed, new room--I'm still getting used to it."

Christian nods. "Fair enough. Have you had breakfast?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Get your clothes off."

_That was fast_, Sean thinks, grinning even wider as he slips his shirt and pants off and kicks them aside. Christian looks him up and down, then nods.

"Turn around."

Sean turns; Christian sweeps a hand down his back, down to his ass, and gives it a squeeze. Sean's cock jerks; he's about half-hard and getting harder by the moment.

Christian gives Sean's ass a hard swat; it stings, but not much. "Face down on the floor. Spread-eagled."

There's more than enough room here to do that, so Sean drops to the floor, face down, arms and legs spread wide. He listens for what Christian's doing--he's walking, all right, over to Sean's left, maybe to the coffee table, and there's a rustling sound, and then he walks back. Sean can hear Christian kneeling down at his side, and he figures it out just as Christian slips something cool and thick under his wrist--it's the cuffs. He's got Sean naked and spread-eagled on the floor, and he's putting those leather cuffs from the shop on him.

Sean presses his hips down against the floor and groans; Christian chuckles. He finishes the first cuff and slips a finger between the cuff and Sean's wrist, checking the fit. He twists the cuff back and forth, and it moves, but it's certainly not free-spinning. It's not too tight, not too loose. It fits just right, and it's heavy and thick and it's getting every ounce of Sean's attention.

Christian takes Sean's wrist and settles it down on his lower back. Sean curls his fingers up and forces himself to breathe--_concentrate and breathe, and for the love of God, don't start begging yet._ Christian gets his other wrist cuffed, brings that over to the first, and with a pair of soft metal clicks, fastens one cuff to the other. Sean relaxes his shoulders, wrists caught by what he can only assume is a double clip. He does groan out loud. He can't help himself.

"Have you spent much time tied up, Sean?" Christian murmurs.

"No, sir," Sean says. He lifts his face off the ground. "Almost none."

"But you like it."

_God, yes._ "Yes, sir."

"There are owners out there who are heavily into bondage. Things much more elaborate than this. Owners who are into rope. And how much time you spend tied up varies, too--some owners just want to tie you up long enough to fuck you, others want to see you making your way through your day in stocks. There are some owners who are in it for the aesthetics, owners who just like the way a slave looks when he's tied up--or in armbinders, or even just wearing cuffs that aren't attached to anything." He moves down Sean's body and cuffs one of his ankles. "There are mind games that go with bondage, owners who'll make you think they're leaving you completely unattended while you're tied to something. If you're ever in real, physical danger, we'll get you out of there as soon as we can--do you know about the check-in system?"

"I--" Christian expects him to be coherent? _Now?_ Sean nods. "Yes, sir, I know I'm required to check in with Eclipse once I have an owner, that I'll be given a codeword if I need to be pulled out of a situation immediately--" He remembers reading that in the documentation, the check-ins, the codewords, simple words like 'afternoon' or 'weather' or 'sore' that the owner he's sold to won't know; it was a shock to realize that Eclipse really does intend to take care of people rather than throwing them to the proverbial wolves. Still... "But in the moment, sir..."

"There's risk," Christian admits quietly. "We screen owners thoroughly, but there's always risk. And bear in mind that a hell of a lot of owners own people because they like power, they need control, and owners like that _want_ to scare you. You might not be in real danger, but it doesn't mean you won't feel like you are."

"I understand, sir," Sean murmurs.

"No, you don't." Christian finishes with the second ankle cuff and runs his hand from Sean's ankle, up the side of his leg, to his hip, then up from his wrist to his shoulder. He ruffles Sean's hair. "Right now I'm ordering you to stay down. You can move if this gets uncomfortable--you can roll over on your side, you can squirm, whatever you need--but you're going to stay on the floor. If something starts to hurt--and I mean the kind of hurt that needs attention--you tell me immediately. Unless you're hurt or you need to get up to piss, you don't speak. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir."

Christian steps over Sean, and Sean turns his head to the side so he can see Christian walking away. It makes Sean's heart speed up--_leaving, you can't be leaving, wait, no_\--but Christian just goes to the seating area, sets the box down on the coffee table, and picks up an e-reader. He sits back in his chair and starts reading, and Sean relaxes. Still there. Still in sight. It's all right.

He settles in, then, and wonders how he looks to Christian. Christian's probably seen dozens of men in a position like this, has probably cuffed men a hell of a lot younger and more interesting than Sean. But Sean's naked, legs still spread wide apart, hands behind his back. It's got to be at least a little bit noteworthy. Christian gave him one of the best fucks of his life yesterday--that has to mean _something_.

Or it doesn't. Sean closes his eyes and exhales slowly. It doesn't have to mean anything. This is a job for Christian. It's supposed to be a job for Sean, in the long run. _You're making too much out of all of this. Don't be a fucking idiot._

Being on the floor cuffed this way isn't terribly uncomfortable, but Sean's glad he has permission in advance to move around. As Christian makes his way through his book--or newspaper, maybe--Sean rolls over on his side, still facing Christian. He ends up making his way through several different positions on the floor, stretching his shoulders as best he can. He does wish there were a clock in here; he'd like to know how long he's been at this. Half an hour? Forty-five minutes? Closer to an hour? He's got no idea.

Lying on his arms isn't the most comfortable position, but in the long run it's the only thing he hasn't done, and his neck needs a rest from the way it's been strained while Sean's been on his side. He stretches out on his back, flattens his palms against the floor, and tries to roll his shoulders to get more comfortable.

Christian comes into view while he's getting settled. He nudges Sean's legs apart with his foot, and Sean bends his legs at the knees, tilting his hips up. "Sir?"

"How are your shoulders, Sean?"

"All right for now, sir."

"You've been at this over an hour. Are you sure?" Christian raises an eyebrow. "Don't try to be tough to score points here. You have to learn to be honest--with us and with yourself."

Sean nods. "I think I've got another twenty minutes in me, sir, and after that this is going to start hurting."

"Twenty minutes." Christian glances at his watch. "Roll over."

Sean rolls over on his stomach, and Christian kneels down next to him. He slides his hand through Sean's hair and squeezes the back of his neck lightly. "I'm going to the other room to get something. I won't be long. If you need me back faster, yell."

"Yes, sir."

He's back in no time, but he walks back around Sean too fast for Sean to see what he's carrying. He kneels down at Sean's side and sweeps his hand down Sean's arm, then gets his hand on Sean's ass and slides two fingers between his cheeks. Sean jerks against the cuffs and spreads his legs apart.

Christian chuckles. "Want something, boy?"

Sean nods. "Please, sir."

He hears a plastic snap, and then there's the cool drizzle of lube into his crack--and a hell of a lot of it. He squirms as the lube runs between his cheeks, as it trickles down over his balls, runs down his thighs, and after a while Christian stops adding lube and pauses. Sean turns his head, tries to look over his shoulder, and he can see Christian's holding _something_\--something blue--but he's not sure what. Plug? Dildo? _God, let it be something he can fuck me with._

The blunt tip of it slips down Sean's crack, too, and Christian holds Sean's cheeks apart with his thumb as he finds Sean's hole. Sean puts his forehead back on the floor and moans, and Christian starts working it in. It becomes obvious in a hurry that it's a dildo and not a plug, because it's huge and _long_ and it just keeps fucking going. It's slick enough to go easily, in spite of yesterday's hard fuck, but there's just more of it than Sean expects, and he ends up tilting his hips back, trying to ease the angle even a little.

"Good boy," Christian murmurs. He draws the dildo back--slow enough to be torture, and Sean groans all the way through it--and then pushes it in again. It's going to make Sean absolutely fucking insane if Christian keeps this pace up, and as he keeps going, Sean gets more and more certain that's the whole point.

He rubs his cock against the carpet; it's so rough that hurts, but anything's better than nothing. Christian grabs Sean by the wrists and pins them to his lower back, putting his weight down so Sean's trapped. Sean tilts his head back and groans again. "Sir--please--"

"Please?"

"Please--God, feels so good--please, faster?"

"No." Christian swings a leg over Sean's and takes a seat on his thighs, pinning him that much harder.

Sean puts his head down and squeezes his eyes shut. _God._ He's not going to be able to stand this; he's going to go insane. "Please," he moans. "Sir... please..."

"_No_," Christian growls. "Where do you think you are, boy?"

_Here_, Sean thinks, _under you,_ but he nods and tries to stay quiet. Christian gives the dildo a slow twist as he drags it back out of Sean's body, and Sean moans, mouth open wide against the carpet.

"You can beg," Christian says--and God, how he can sound so calm when he's taking Sean apart piece by piece, Sean doesn't know--"but if you're begging because you think it's going to get you what you want, think again. I'm not doing this for you."

Sean gasps, ass clenching around the dildo, hands curling into fists. "No, sir, please, sir, oh _fuck_, please, please--God--close--"

Christian pauses mid-stroke, lifting his hand off Sean's wrists and stretching so he can pin Sean down at the shoulder instead. "Close," he murmurs. Sean nods. "Because I'm not doing this for you?" He shoves the dildo in again, hard and fast this time, and if he didn't have Sean pinned down Sean would be arching off the floor. As it is, Sean yells out loud, head snapping back, and Christian slams the dildo into him again, and again, and _God_, he doesn't let up through another half-dozen brutal strokes.

Sean doesn't even try to hold back; he shoves his hips against the carpet until he's all but taking the skin off his cock, and when Christian's fingernails dig into his shoulder, four sharp points cutting into his skin, Sean comes, moaning and pleading and babbling out his gratitude, collapsing into the floor when he's finished.

Christian takes the dildo out and gets Sean's wrists unclipped; Sean stretches his arms out to his sides, but Christian's following, rubbing them from shoulders to wrists, making Sean moan even more.

"Let's get you off the floor," Christian murmurs. "Come on." He helps Sean roll over and gets him over to the couch, and Sean stays on his back once they get him there; he's not sure he could sit up even if he wanted to. Christian comes over with a bottle of water, and Sean drinks down about half of it, pressing the bottle itself against his throat when he's done; the cool plastic feels good right now.

When he finally looks up, Christian's still seated right next to him, looking down at him. "Feeling all right?" Christian asks.

Sean nods. He's probably grinning, probably looks like an idiot, but he can't help it. "Thank you, sir," he murmurs.

"You're welcome." Christian squeezes Sean's shoulder. "When you've had some time to rest, I want to get you into a shower, and then we'll see about having some lunch."

"Yes, sir." Sean finds himself wanting to yawn; he tries to stifle it, but it's not very effective. "Sorry, sir."

"You don't have to apologize for that," Christian murmurs. "Just bear in mind that this is nothing compared to how worn out you're going to be by the end of the month."

This time Sean's sure he's grinning like a fool. It doesn't last long; Christian's expression goes tight and closed, and he gets up and walks away. Sean rubs a hand over his face. _Wrong answer_, he thinks. _Well done._

* * *

Once Sean's had a shower, Christian gets the cuffs back on him, and Sean finally has a chance to look at himself in the mirror. He can't help staring. The contrast between the dark brown leather and his pale skin is stark, and the fact that he isn't dressed yet just makes this look like something out of all his slave fantasies.

_You have to stop thinking that way. This isn't a fantasy._ Telling himself that doesn't help, no matter how many times he forces the thought through his brain.

It helps even less when Christian comes into the bathroom with the collar. Sean holds still and watches himself in the mirror as Christian gets it buckled on, and by the time Christian's gotten the leather adjusted and checked the fit, Sean's hard all over again.

Christian glances down his body and nods. "We'll have to do something about that," he says. "This isn't a Thursday lunch."

"What happens on Thursdays?" Sean asks. Christian looks at him, surprised. "No one's told me much about my schedule. All I knew is that I'm supposed to serve you--whatever it is you want from me, during the week. And weekends I spend on my own." He's still not sure how that's going to work, but he figured he'd ask when the time came; apparently it's come.

"Thursdays are open meet-and-greets for owners looking to buy and slaves looking to be sold," Christian says. "You're not quite on the market yet, but I did plan on taking you. It'll be a good chance for you to see how other slaves behave around owners, and it'll give you the opportunity to do some networking."

"I didn't think I was going to have much of a choice in the matter of who buys me," Sean says, frowning. "I thought if I made it through the first month I'd be going up for auction."

"If you make it that far, you will. But this gives owners a chance to see what they're bidding on."

"Oh." Sean looks down at the floor; he can feel the heat flushing through his body, and damn it, he's getting really fucking tired of seeing his embarrassment and arousal come up on his skin. There's a reason he's never played poker. "What's expected of me, sir?"

"Obedience. I'll be with you every minute; no one's going to get to run off alone with you. There's generally a great deal of touching, and it's not unusual for slaves to have sexual contact with owners at these lunches." Christian leans up against the bathroom counter and crosses his arms over his chest. "I'll start you off with clothes this week. That'll probably change next week, but then by next week you'll have a little more experience under your belt."

"Or under yours," Sean says, looking up at Christian again. Christian actually grins at that.

"Or under mine," he agrees. "Get dressed; I'm starting to get hungry. How are you?"

"Starved," Sean admits. "Thank you, sir."

Sean gets dressed and heads out to the sitting room, where Christian's waiting for him. He's got a length of dark brown leather in his hands, and Sean recognizes it for what it is almost immediately: it's a leash. Sean goes still, slides his hands behind his back, and Christian walks over to him.

"You don't have to hide the way this turns you on," Christian murmurs. He clips the leash onto Sean's collar, and Sean takes a deep, slow breath. "It's all right if it turns you on. I just don't want you to have any illusions about what we're doing here."

"I don't mean to, sir," Sean says quietly. "But I'm still learning."

"I know." Christian slides his hand down the leash, and Sean feels the tug of it against his collar. Christian grips the leash hard and leads Sean to the door, and Sean follows, leashed and collared, cuffed at wrists and ankles, barefoot. He wonders if it's supposed to be this easy, and what illusions he's going to have to learn to give up before his training's over.

* * *

There are four other couples in the dining room; Christian nods at them as the hostess, Marie, leads them to their table. Two of the couples have slaves kneeling at their trainers' sides, but the slaves are seated at the other two tables, and Christian directs Sean to a chair before taking the leash off his collar. He hangs the leash over the back of his chair and takes the menu from Marie. "Thanks," he says.

"Ma'am," Sean says, nodding at her.

Marie flashes him a grin. "You're new, aren't you?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"This is Sean," Christian says. "Sean, meet Marie; she's usually the hostess here during the day."

Marie takes Sean's hand and shakes it firmly. Sean nods again.

"Let me know if there's anything you need," she says, looking from Sean to Christian. "Terence will be waiting on you today. He'll be right over."

"Sounds good," Christian says. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

After Marie's headed off, Sean looks down at his menu. Christian eyes his and stops short when he notices the roasted pork with cranberries. Pork gyoza, for people looking for a hand-feeding option. And lemon chiffon pie. _That's Jason,_ he thinks. _I wonder how long he's been back._

"Is something the matter, sir?"

Christian looks back up at Sean. "No, not at all," he says. "Order anything you want. Everything's good."

Sean nods, and by the time Terence gets to them, they've both made their choices and can sit back and look around the dining room. Sean's attention is glued to one of the slaves on his knees, the one who's being hand-fed.

"Do you like that?" Christian murmurs.

Sean jumps a little and turns back to Christian. "Sorry, sir--"

"Don't be sorry. You're here because I _want_ you to look around. Do you like the idea of doing that?"

Sean glances back to the slave and nods. "It looks--" He nods again. "Yes, sir."

"It can get a little tedious. And your choices end up limited by how neat something is, how easy it is to hand-feed. How do you feel about sushi?"

"I haven't had enough to have an opinion, sir."

"It's one of the gold standards for hand-feeding. You should give it a shot sometime this week."

"I will, sir."

"And if you're that interested in hand-feeding, we can put you on your knees on Thursday. You'll definitely make an impression that way."

Sean nods again and stares down at his lap; he's not blushing, but Christian imagines it wouldn't be hard to push him that far. He's so damn responsive, so easy to read. And nothing Christian's reading from him makes him think Sean's going to give this up in a month.

Lunch is good, as Christian expected, and when Terence comes to take their plates away, Christian stops him. "Is Jason here today?"

Terence grins. "He is. Do you want me to bring him out?"

"Please."

"I'll let him know."

Sean's eyebrows arch up. "Jason?"

"Old friend of mine. I'd like to introduce you."

"Oh--thank you, sir." Sean sits up a little straighter, and Christian sips at his mineral water as they wait.

It doesn't take long. Jason comes out of the kitchen, full kitchen whites on, sleeves rolled up, and Christian comes out of his seat to give Jason a nice hard hug. Jason's in terrific shape, looking tanned and fit and healthy, and Christian squeezes his shoulder as he draws away. "Hello, Jason."

"Christian, sir, how are you?" Jason grins ear-to-ear. "It's been a while, hasn't it?"

"A few months at least," Christian agrees. "Jason, I'd like you to meet my trainee--this is Sean--and Sean, this is Jason."

"We worked together when I first got here," Jason says, extending a hand to Sean. Sean stands up and takes it, nodding at Jason. Christian can only imagine what Sean makes of him--mid-40s, a little taller than Sean, short black hair--which he's losing at the top--incredibly blue eyes, and at least from where Christian's standing, Jason radiates _submissive_. "Pleased to meet you."

"Pleased to meet you, too," Sean says. Apparently Sean's picking up on some of that, as Jason's the first person Sean hasn't called _sir_ or _ma'am_ right away.

"How's Viggo?" Christian asks. "It's nice to see he's let you back in the kitchen--" Jason's expression sobers a bit, and Christian grimaces. "Or not?"

"Oh, no, Viggo's fine--I hear he's fine. We parted ways. My contract was up, and I thought it was time to get out of the game." Jason looks back at Sean, and this time he really looks at him--gives him a long once-over, head-to-foot, one that makes Sean flush red and look over at Christian. Jason looks at Christian, too, eyebrows raised.

"Lunch was fantastic," Christian says, and Jason nods. "It's always good to see you."

"Same here." Jason reaches out again, and Christian takes his hand. "You're welcome down here anytime." He looks at Sean. "That goes for you, too. How long have you been in training?"

"It's my second day," Sean says.

"Second day of his month," Christian adds.

Jason nods at that. "If you get to a point where you're at loose ends--on the weekend or something--come down and see me. I can put you to work if you don't like being idle, or we can hang out, chat--I don't suppose you play _Earth Station Alpha_."

Sean laughs. "I'm better at things like _Tech Fighter_," he admits.

"I can work with that." Jason smiles. "I do mean it. I'd be happy to have the company."

"I'd like that, too," Sean says. "Should I call down first?"

"If you like. I'm listed in the directory. Isaacs. Under kitchen staff. I live on the grounds; you're welcome to just drop by my room if I'm not working."

"I will. Thank you."

Christian takes the leash off the back of his chair; Sean notices, swallows, and slides into a parade-rest stance. Jason scratches his nose to cover the grin, but Christian sees it anyway. He ignores it, though, keeping his focus on Sean, and if Sean notices Jason smiling, he doesn't react. "It's time to get back to work. Come here."

Sean comes forward, and Christian clips the leash onto his collar. Sean closes his eyes and exhales softly; behind him, Jason grins and shakes his head. "See you both later on," he says.

Christian nods at him, and Jason heads back for the kitchen. Sean looks back up at Christian and slides his tongue out over his lips, and this time Christian pulls him forward and licks over Sean's lips himself. Sean groans and opens his mouth, and Christian bites down hard on his lower lip. Sean inhales sharply, but doesn't make a sound otherwise.

"You don't even do that on purpose, do you?" Christian murmurs.

"What's that, sir?"

"I didn't think so." Christian gives Sean some slack on the leash and steps away from him. "Let's go."


	6. By The Numbers

They keep telling him it's a job, it's a profession, it's _work_, it's difficult, that it's not fun and games and all the images he's seen in porn, but the fact of that matter is that Sean's being led down the hallway on a leash, and he's so turned on it's hard for him to put one foot in front of the other.

Maybe it'll be different when it's an owner and not a trainer, a contract he can't get out of without due cause. Maybe. But, God, maybe not, and the idea that he might get to keep feeling like this for six months, a year, a few years... however long someone might be willing to take on a slave his age... it's impossible not to be excited by that.

Christian pulls him into the room and takes him over to the seating area, wrapping the end of Sean's leash around one of the coffee table's legs. It's nothing Sean couldn't get out of, if he needed to, but the intent's pretty clear.

"You can stay on your knees if you want, or you can curl up on the couch. Whatever's comfortable for you. If you need to use the restroom, I'll untie you. Otherwise, stay put."

"Yes, sir."

Christian looks him over, eyes zeroing in on Sean's erection. There's really nothing Sean can do about that, regardless of what it makes Christian think about him. Sean straightens up, hands behind his back, spreading his knees a little wider for balance. Christian nods sharply at him and disappears into the other room.

He's not gone long; he comes back with an e-reader and takes a seat on one of the armchairs. Sean stays on his knees for a while, but eventually the urge to look good for Christian gives way to the urge to keep his knees functioning, and he climbs up on the couch. He discovers he couldn't sit up straight even if he wanted to; there's not enough slack on the leash for that. There is enough slack for him to lie down, and he stretches out, pulling one of the loose cushions behind his head and relaxing with his hands crossed over his chest.

He daydreams; there's not much else for him to do. Even watching Christian loses its appeal after the first ten minutes, since all Christian's doing is sitting still and reading. He thinks about Jason, the ex-slave who's working in the kitchen; he thinks about the girl who'd been on her knees as he first went to Christian's office, the one who winked at him. He thinks about the slaves in the slaves' courtyard, how some of them looked happy to be here. It can't be all bad. It's been more good than bad for him. And Thursday--Thursday he'll be meeting the kind of people who want to buy a person, take him home, pretend they own him and can do whatever they want to him.

Something clicks for him, and he stops, frowning. **_Pretend_** they own you and can do whatever they want to you--it's not pretending if they really do. If they really can.

He takes a deep breath; the frown doesn't come off his face for another minute or two. Christian walks over to him, sitting down on the coffee table and sliding his hand up the length of Sean's leash.

"Talk to me," Christian murmurs. Sean closes his eyes; it's hard to think when Christian's got his hand on Sean's leash, let alone talk. "I want to know what that look's all about."

"I'm just realizing this isn't playacting, sir," Sean says quietly. "That people here to buy are people who genuinely believe they _can_."

He gets his eyes open; Christian's nodding at him. "It's a good thing to remember," he says. "What have the owners you've played with been like?"

Sean shakes his head. "Different. Everyone's been different."

"How have they treated you?"

"Some of them want to know that I like what they're doing to me. Others want to embarrass me into admitting I like things." He closes his eyes and takes another deep breath. "There've been a few that simply took it for granted that fucking me was part of what they were paying me for."

"How did you feel about that?"

"At the time? Aroused. Looking back on it..." Sean looks up at Christian, looks down his body. He wonders if Christian's like most of the staff here and used to be someone's slave. "I don't know what would have happened to me if I'd tried to say no."

"You can still walk away from this," Christian says. He unties the leash from the coffee table and holds the end loosely. "You don't have to sell yourself to get what you want, you know. If what you're looking for is guys who play rough, there's a lot of places you can get that. Things that aren't as permanent as what you're walking into."

Sean sits up; there's enough slack on the leash to do that now. "But that's the problem, isn't it? If going places and getting it rough were all I needed, I'd have had that at twenty. At thirty. I didn't end up with the clients I have for no reason. I wanted--I needed--" He shakes his head again. "Christ, I don't know."

"Sean..." Christian sighs. "Part of my job this month is to help you make a decision that you can live with. And you can damn well bet that part of what I'm going to be doing for the next four weeks is trying to scare the shit out of you." He raises an eyebrow. "But I'm not even getting close, am I?"

"Honestly, sir?" Sean shakes his head. "No."

"If this were all you got for the next year, would that be enough for you? Some bondage, a collar now and then, a little pain when your owner wants to give it to you, getting fucked more days than not."

Sean looks down at the floor. "Probably not," he admits.

Christian's quiet for a while. Finally, he wraps his hand around Sean's leash a few times and stands up, pulling Sean up with him. Sean looks at him; he can't read a thing off Christian's expression. "I think it's time I started looking for your pain limits. Bedroom."

Sean's brain almost short-circuits at that, but he follows Christian into the bedroom and waits while Christian unsnaps the leash from his collar. Christian steps back and points at the rest of Sean's clothing. "Off. All of it."

That doesn't take long, and by the time Sean's standing up again, he's naked. Christian grabs him by the collar and shoves him face down onto the bed, pushing his arms out so they're straight in front of him. "Here's how this works," Christian says, low and growling, the same way he sounded the first time he fucked Sean. "We're going to start with my belt, and I'm going to start slow. We're going to work on figuring out a pain scale for you -- a number between one and ten that represents how much something's hurting you. If it's a one, you might as well be getting a pat on the ass; if it's a ten, you're not sure you could take any more."

"Yes, sir!"

"It's going to take a few scenes like this before those numbers are really solid for you. Trust me on this one, Sean--" Christian reaches between Sean's thighs and pinches a bit of the skin on his inner thigh, twisting it hard; Sean drops his face into the mattress and yells. "I can hurt you a hell of a lot more than you want to get hurt. There's always going to be a number that comes after ten." He lets Sean's skin go, and Sean pants softly against the bedspread; Christ, that _did_ hurt. "So don't ever tell me we're at ten just because you think I can't possibly hit any harder. And don't tell me something's a three when it's a five just because you're not getting hit hard enough at the time."

Sean lifts his head off the bed and glances back behind himself. "I promise, sir," he says. "Sir, permission to say something--"

Christian nods. "Of course."

"Pain scares the hell out of me, and I still don't remember the last time I was turned on like this."

Christian closes his eyes, exhaling long and low, and he runs both hands through his hair. "All right. Let's get started."

He unbuckles his belt, which makes Sean bite down hard on his lower lip and groan softly. He did say that yesterday--he said he'd use his own belt--but Sean didn't expect it to turn him on as much as it does, watching Christian slide that belt through his belt loops and double it up in his hand.

"Turn around," Christian murmurs, and Sean settles down again, arms stretched out straight. Christian slides the belt down over Sean's shoulders, over his back, down the curve of his ass to his thighs; he shudders with every new area it touches. Christian reaches up and puts one hand on the curve of Sean's lower back. "Reach down and tuck your cock and balls underneath you. We're not going to go there today."

"Yes, sir," Sean says, reaching down and getting everything put away as ordered. If anything, it makes his ass seem that much more exposed. He closes his eyes as he settles down again.

"All right."

The first blow is more sound that feeling, but Sean still jumps. Christian waits for him. "I--one, sir. Barely."

Christian gives him a dozen more just like that, and by the end of it, Sean can feel them, but only slightly, and it sure as hell isn't pain. "One, sir. Nearly one."

"Good," Christian murmurs.

The next blow is harder, sharp this time, and Sean jumps again. That one he could actually feel, but it's still the kind of blow that makes him think _quit fucking around with me; you hit me harder than that with just your hand_. "One for sure, sir."

"One for sure," Christian repeats, sounding amused. "Okay. Let's do ten more like that."

He does, and he's good at keeping them all even and precise. Ten strokes at that level are still easy to take, don't even require Sean to steady his breathing. Sean nods after the tenth. "One, sir."

"Then let's aim a little higher." He slides his hand over Sean's ass--that does sting a little; he must be getting redder than he thought--and then his free hand's back on Sean's lower back, and he gives Sean a blow that's easily twice as hard as any of the others. This one stings.

"Oh, God, again, sir, please--"

Christian does laugh at that. "What number was that?"

"I don't--I don't know, sir."

"But it made you beg for more."

"Yes, sir!"

"Give me a guess and I'll give you five more just like it."

"I--I don't know..." Sean closes his eyes, tries to remember the sting and the slap and the heavy feel of leather against his bare ass. "Maybe... three... sir?"

Christian chuckles again. "Three. You think so?"

"I... maybe, sir."

"Let's see how you feel after five more like that."

Five more blows are sharp and gorgeous and sting like hell, and there's pain to go along with it, but it's a warm, arousing pain, nothing Sean's afraid of. If "one" was supposed to be for things that gave Sean sensation but not actual pain, and "ten" is for things he can't bear, he nods to himself; this is a three.

"Still a three?"

"Yes, sir," Sean moans. "More, sir, please?"

Christian runs his hand down Sean's ass and squeezes. "You think you've earned a fuck when all we've done is figure out one and three?"

Sean blinks and frowns, looking back over his shoulder. "No, sir, I just--I hoped you'd hurt me more, sir, that was all..."

Christian looks startled for a moment, then frowns down at the floor and shakes his head. "No, I'm sorry--I'm sorry. You're right. We're not done here. We're not even close to done here."

"Did you want to fuck me, sir?"

"Lie down," Christian growls. "I want to find at _least_ seven before..."

_Before what?_ Sean wonders, but he just nods, mumbling "Yes, sir" into the mattress again.

Christian goes harder--_four, sir; five, sir; sev--no, six, six, sir, I... God... think_\--and harder, and the numbers stack up on top of each other. By the time Sean's yelling out _six_ over and over, he's starting to feel like he could take as much of this as Christian wanted to give him, forever. It never stops hurting, never stops feeling like a sharp, stinging burn across his skin, but Sean _wants_ it, wants it everywhere, wonders how it'd feel on his chest, on his nipples, the fronts of his thighs, his calves, against his cock--

It stops, abruptly, and Christian's up against him, thighs rough from the denim he's wearing and pressed tight up against Sean's ass. Sean moans and tries to push back; Christian grabs him by the hair and shoves his face flat against the mattress.

"Are you holding out on me?" Christian growls. "You think if you never give me 'seven', I'm just going to keep beating you, and you're going to get what you want that way?"

"Sir--" Christian loosens his grip so Sean can turn his head to the side, so he can talk without the sound disappearing into the bed. "No, sir, not--not holding out, just--feels so good, I don't..." He arches back against Christian just to feel the scrape of denim against his raw skin. "Just--hurt me, sir, please, _please_\--"

Christian growls at that, pulling himself back, and Sean turns over on his side, trying to see where Christian's going. He's not going anywhere, though; he's taking his shirt off, then digging into his pocket, grabbing a condom. He holds onto the packet with his teeth before unsnapping his jeans and shoving his jeans and boxer-briefs down to his thighs, and then he grabs Sean by the hips and shoves him down against the bed again. "Stay down," he growls.

Sean can hear Christian tearing the condom packet open, but then there's a creak he can't identify, and Christian's hands come _up_, up his thighs, hands all over Sean's red, aching ass, and his thumbs slip into Sean's crack and pull him open. Then there's heat--a scratch like sandpaper--and finally incredible, mind-blowing wetness, a hot stroke against his asshole, and Sean grabs handfuls of the bedspread and grits his teeth to keep from coming just from realizing what's happening, what Christian's doing to him. Christian beat him red with his own belt and now he's got his hands on Sean's cheeks and he's fucking _rimming_ him, and Sean shudders, praying he can hold out at least until Christian gets inside him.

Christian shoves two--no, maybe it's three--fingers into him, and Sean growls, teeth tightening on his lower lip. "God, you're hungry," Christian growls back at him. He comes back up--his jeans are still scraping against Sean's thighs--and then he's pushing in, driving in hard and fast until his hips are up against Sean's ass, and the only thing keeping Sean from coming right then and there is the fact that it _does_ hurt--the burn's inside and out, now, and he wants to know, _needs_ to know, how much more heat he's going to get before Christian's through with him.

Christian reaches up and pins Sean's neck down--pins it down by the collar, fingers splayed out over the leather. "Say it," Christian growls. "Tell me how this _feels_, boy."

Sean gets his teeth open and takes a few hard, panting breaths. "Fuck--Christ--sir, _hurts_, _good_, feels--fuck, good, so good, more, please, just--don't stop, please, please, God, hurt me, please, sir, please hurt me, please, oh God--"

There's more like that, nothing but a babbled spray of words, but Christian slips his fingers under Sean's collar and goes in harder, deeper, until the pain from being fucked on top of being beaten is both blinding and utterly goddamned _exhilarating_. Sean's openmouthed and gasping for air, and Christian's making a hell of a lot of noise behind him, moans and growls and things that are almost words, but when Sean realizes he's not going to be able to hold back any longer, he pushes up against Christian's grip.

"Sir, please, please, can I come, can I--please let me come, sir, please, please, please--"

"You--" Christian groans. "You don't have to ask..."

"--God, yes, yes I do, please tell me, please, sir, _please_\--"

"Oh, Jesus Christ, yes, boy, come, come for me right goddamned now--"

And Sean does, the shock of it pulsing all the way through his body, exploding at the base of his spine and running up to the base of his skull. His vision whites out; he thinks he might have screamed. He's barely aware of Christian behind him, going in for another five, six sharp thrusts, and then yelling out loud, too, collapsing forward onto Sean's back when he's done.

When he comes to again, Sean wonders if they both fell asleep like that. Sean's pretty sure he passed out; he doesn't know about Christian.

But as soon as he starts moving, Christian climbs off him, and he helps Sean slide the rest of the way onto the bed, up on his side so he doesn't have to lie on his ass.

"I'm going to get you some water," Christian says, voice hoarse. Sean nods. "I'll be back."

He comes back with the water and climbs up onto the bed in front of Sean, naked head-to-foot now and covered in sweat. He stretches out next to Sean, drinking what's left of the bottle when Sean's finished with it, and he strokes a hand through Sean's hair, thumb rubbing over Sean's eyebrow.

They don't talk; Christian just keeps looking at Sean, and Sean eventually closes his eyes, nuzzles against Christian's palm, and rests.

It's dark when he wakes up again; there's a blanket over him, and Christian's got a hand on his shoulder. Christian's out of bed, fully dressed again. He squeezes Sean's shoulder. "Hey," he murmurs. "It's time for me to go. Will you be all right tonight?"

Sean blinks his eyes open and looks over at the clock. _It's six already?_ "I'll be fine," he murmurs. "Thank you for this afternoon."

"We're not done with that," Christian promises. "I should have held out for longer, but you were already flying, and I--" He stops, purses his lips, goes on. "If you need anything--anything at all--call down for it. If you need _me_, tell the switchboard; I authorized you to reach me at home."

Sean nods, and Christian stands up. _Home_, Sean thinks. "Do you have one?" he asks, wincing at himself as soon as the words are out of his mouth. "I'm sorry, it's none of my business--"

"Do I have one--do I have a slave?" Christian asks. Sean nods. Christian sighs and sits down on the edge of the bed. "I was a slave for ten years, Sean. I've never owned anybody."

It shouldn't surprise Sean. It _shouldn't_. So many people on the staff here are former slaves; so many people here have been part of the system. But Christian himself?

"I shouldn't have asked, sir. It really isn't my business."

"I don't mind," Christian says. "Are you sure you'll be all right?"

"I'm sure," Sean says. "I wouldn't mind some time to think, to be honest."

Christian nods. "I know how that is. If you want to talk about anything tomorrow, you let me know. I'd be happy to listen."

"Yes, sir."

And he's gone, leaving Sean alone.

Sean climbs out of bed eventually, and he heads to the bathroom to clean up a bit better; he doesn't really want to be sticky all night long. After he's finished with the washcloth, he turns around and glances over his shoulder to see if he can get a good look at his backside.

There are enough mirrors in the bathroom that he eventually finds a corner where the reflections are just right, but he sighs in disappointment when he sees the results of the beating. He's still red, but it's fading fast, and there's no sign of any bruises.

It's ridiculous feeling bitter over that, but Sean can't help it. He gets dressed in his uniform again and goes out to the living room, ordering up dinner from the kitchen. The way things have been here, he'd been expecting to have something lasting marked into his skin the first time Christian really tried to hurt him.

He flicks on the media screen while he's waiting for dinner, idly zipping through channels in hopes of finding something that'll hold his interest. _Moments of intense activity followed by periods of boredom_, he thinks. _Maybe this is what I should be getting used to._


	7. You Wanted More

For a few minutes, between handing his bike's keys to the valet and the time he gets to his room, Christian thinks about whether he should have brought Sean something--flowers, chocolate, a card that says _I'm sorry for leaving you on your own last night_. When he gets into the room, though, Sean's stretched out on the floor, having dug up a yoga mat from somewhere, and he's about halfway through a sun salutation, exhaling long and slow as he shifts into cobra pose. He opens his eyes and smiles at Christian, and Christian takes a seat, watching Sean finish the rest of the routine. Sean goes to his knees when he's done, going into a present pose as if it's a natural part of the sun salutation.

"Don't let me interrupt," Christian says. "Did you want to do another?"

"Another two, if you don't mind, sir," Sean says.

"Go ahead."

Sean doesn't seem sore. Christian's pretty sure he'd see it if it were there, but Sean's moving easily, motions clean and steady if not quite elegant. Moving easily. And it wasn't a soft beating last night; Sean kept calling out _six_ at a point when other people Christian's trained would have been in tears.

Christian's hands twitch. He remembers how good Sean's skin looked when it was red from his belt; he knows what it felt like bringing his hand down against Sean's skin. _I want to find your ten_, he thinks. _I want to watch you fall apart for me._

He has to shift his hips and adjust his cock, thinking about all that. When Sean finishes his last sun salutation, Christian crooks a finger at him. Sean crawls over to Christian, and Christian reaches forward, sliding his hand behind Sean's neck and squeezing.

"You did very well last night," Christian says. "I'm definitely going to hurt you some more, but I don't want you marked tomorrow. It'll have to wait until after tomorrow's lunch."

"Yes, sir," Sean says. There he goes again, licking his lips, tip of his tongue flicking out just enough to tease. Christian's pretty sure he really doesn't know he's doing it, and he grips Sean's neck just a little harder.

"Would you like to talk about anything?"

"I--" Sean gives Christian a rueful look. "Sir, I'm not sure if I can talk while you're touching me like that."

It would be so easy to push Sean to the ground right now; Christian wants that, wants to pin him down and kiss him and see if he can get Sean to come just by making Sean rub up against him.

He pulls back instead, sitting back in his chair. "Sorry," he says. "I do want to hear it, if you've got anything you want to talk about."

Sean sits back, too, lacing his hands behind his back. It stretches his shoulders, shows off his chest under that thin t-shirt. If he were twenty years younger, there'd be owners lined up down the block to buy him. "I don't think I do, sir," Sean says. "I enjoyed it--I enjoyed all of last night quite a lot. It doesn't mean pain doesn't still scare me, but..." He shrugs. "I think finding my limits _is_ a good idea, but I wondered, sir, what difference does it make?"

"What do you mean?"

"It's not as though it's up to me who I'm sold to. You're the one who said I don't get to set my limits, so I can't help but wonder--do my limits matter that much?"

Christian sighs. "They matter to _us_," he says. "The fact that you don't set your own limits doesn't mean we aren't going to at least try to find you a compatible owner. If we've got a slave who can't stand being hurt, we try to find him a owner who's not into hurting people. If we've got a slave who has a high pain tolerance and actually gets off on it, we can usually find a owner who likes to leave bruises that last for days. A hell of a lot of places, they don't give a damn. You take who you're sold to and that's the end of it. And we do work with owners who make it a point to exercise their authority in some damned uncomfortable ways. But you're supposed to be able to get through all of this undamaged, and it's not to our advantage to sell people slaves who are only going to be miserable."

Sean nods. "I understand, sir," he murmurs.

"We train dominant slaves for submissive owners, too." Christian pauses. "It's what I did for most of the time I was owned."

"Oh." Sean looks back up at Christian. "I hadn't even--it hadn't occurred to me that people would want dominant slaves."

"A surprising number of owners do. Finding the right slaves for them can be difficult. Would learning how to top interest you at all?"

That makes Sean laugh, which isn't much of a surprise. "I think if it were going to interest me, I'd have noticed by now," he admits. "Is that something you'll expect me to learn?"

"No--although it probably would be a good idea to have you learn how to handle some of the toys I'll be using on you. Owners do occasionally get it into their heads to see their slaves topping other slaves, and you'd be better off with a few lessons than you would be just having to fake it on the spot."

"Makes sense, sir."

"Finding people the right slaves--finding slaves the right owners..." Christian pauses, frowning. "It isn't always perfect. It's better than it used to be, though. Our reputation's good enough that most owners are willing to wait a little longer for a slave we recommend, and we have a fairly large pool of slaves. Which reminds me..." Christian leans forward, elbows on his knees. "Tomorrow's Thursday."

"I'd been thinking about that, sir." Sean shifts a little on his knees; Christian glances between his legs. He's not hard yet. Christian's curious how long it's going to take, now that they're talking about Thursday. "Do you know how many people are usually at one of these lunches?"

"For the first Thursday of the month, not that many. We've just run the open auction, and the next one won't be until the end of the month, so there aren't too many slaves still looking for owners, and the owners know that. I'd say there'll probably be six or seven slaves, and maybe ten to fifteen owners--some of whom might bring their current slaves, too. At the end of the month there'd be closer to fifty slaves, and any number of owners; we take over the entire dining room."

"And you said sexual contact is allowed."

Christian nods. "No one goes off alone with a slave at one of these lunches--even on the last Thursday of the month, trainers keep a close eye on their slaves. But open, supervised contact is permitted, and while it's generally not a free-for-all orgy where everyone's getting bent over every available surface, you should be prepared for someone to want to fuck you--or more likely, someone's going to want you to suck them."

This time when Sean licks his lips, Christian's pretty sure it's deliberate. He raises an eyebrow at Sean. "I take it that idea doesn't turn you off."

"I realize you haven't asked me for that, sir, but I enjoy the hell out of giving head."

Christian reaches out and rubs his thumb along Sean's lower lip. "I bet you do," he murmurs, and God, he can't stop himself from asking. "Do you like it when it's rough?"

Sean shudders and nods. "Yes, sir."

_You need to know this. It's all right to ask. It's not just asking for yourself._ Christian trails his fingers over Sean's jawline and then settles his hand on Sean's shoulder, just at the join of his neck. He rubs his thumb up and down the center of Sean's throat. "How rough do you like taking it? Do you like to choke?"

"Yes," Sean whispers. "Sir--_please_\--"

"Not yet," Christian murmurs. "Right now we're talking about it. Put your hands behind your back."

Sean shifts into position, and Christian straightens up, too, keeping the height advantage and looking down at Sean. He's still got his hand on Sean's shoulder, still got his thumb moving up and down Sean's throat. He wraps his fingers around the back of Sean's neck and grips tightly again. Sean swallows, eyes closing for a moment, before he looks back up at Christian.

"You like giving head," Christian murmurs. "And you like it rough. How rough has it been for you?"

"I've had one man holding me in place while another one fucks my mouth," Sean says. His voice is getting hoarser by the moment; his breath's starting to speed up. Christian can feel Sean's pulse under his thumb. All these tiny physical responses, all these things that can't be faked or controlled--Christian would have to be made of fucking rock not to respond to all of it.

"Were you on your knees for them?" Christian asks.

"Yes--I was--" Sean swallows again. "One of them was up against the back of his sofa; the other one was kneeling behind me. He had one hand pinning down both of mine, and the other one in my hair, pushing me down onto the other man's cock."

"Were you dressed?"

Sean nods. "I was working. They took me aside for a break, and--" Both of Sean's eyes slam shut when Christian traces his thumb down the center of Sean's throat. "Sir--_please_. Please--"

"Keep talking," Christian murmurs. He leans in, though, putting his cheek next to Sean's, his lips against Sean's ear. "Did you struggle?"

Sean laughs, cheek brushing up against Christian's. "God, no. No. I was where I wanted to be."

"On your knees."

"Yes."

"One man behind you, one man in front of you."

"_Yes._"

"Held in place."

"God, yes, sir--"

"And they choked you."

Sean swallows; Christian can feel his breath coming out hot and fast against Christian's cheek. Sean nods.

It's so easy to imagine Christian in one man's place--the man behind him, because damn it, he wants to be the one holding Sean down, wants to watch Sean struggle, _make_ him struggle, even if it's only because his body needs air and Christian's not letting him have it. They can find someone for Sean to suck; anyone would take him up on it, anyone would be interested. Christian's got one face in mind, though, one man in particular, and as he pushes Sean to the ground, one hand on Sean's throat, he can see it perfectly.

Sean goes with him, goes loose and boneless under Christian's hand, and even when Christian has to stop and drag him further away from the chair, further away so they can both stretch out, it doesn't break the control Christian has over Sean. Sean's quiet, eyes bright and fixed on Christian's, and he crawls backward and then waits for Christian to give him more instructions. Christian pushes Sean's hands up above his head, crosses his wrists, and gives them a hard press into the carpet to let Sean know he's supposed to stay there.

Sean nods once, and Christian climbs down his body, pulling Sean's pants down and getting his cock out. Sean's so hard he's leaking, and Christian rubs his thumb in a quick circle over the head of Sean's cock. Sean stays put, though, wrists on the floor like they're still pinned there. "Good boy," Christian mutters, and for just an instant, a grin flashes across Sean's face, ear-to-ear before it's gone again.

Christian's still got that image in his head, Sean on his knees, Christian behind him, forcing Sean's head down against another man's cock, and he growls softly and gets his own cock out, moving forward until he can wrap his hand around his cock and Sean's all at once. He puts his free hand on Sean's chest, partly for support, partly to keep the son of a bitch _down_, and he starts jerking them both off, fast, brutal, friction heating their skin and making Sean gasp.

He knows what it'd look like, having Sean caught between him and another man; he's seen it, done it, more times than he can count. He's been all three men in that scenario.

He's never done it with Bill.

Sean groans and gasps and twists under Christian's grip, but his wrists stay down. Christian moves his hand over to the base of Sean's throat, keeping his weight lighter there, and Sean looks up at him. He swipes his tongue across his lips again, and _fuck_, Christian really shouldn't just spring this on him, he should walk Sean through it one step at a time, should let him know he's going to be safe, but God knows who's going to buy Sean in a month, and Sean knows better than to believe he's safe with _anyone_.

Christian shifts his focus to Sean's throat and grips him harder, pinning him down by that. His hand works harder against their cocks, and he's careful, goddamnit, he's working _hard_ to be careful, he can feel the way Sean's breathing, he can see it. Sean's not struggling.

But Sean arches up, pressing his throat against Christian's hand, and Christian growls out loud, tightening his grip on Sean's throat. Sean collapses back to the floor, eyes open and staring at the ceiling, mouth open as he tries to take in enough air, and as soon as Christian backs off to let him get a full breath again, Sean's eyes squeeze shut and his cock jerks in Christian's hand. He grunts, barely making any sound at all, as thick white pulses of come streak across Christian's cock, across his hand, and Christian slicks it down their lengths, speeding up even more.

He shifts his hand back to Sean's shoulder, leans his weight down on it, and comes, sounds bitten off between his teeth, sticky all the way up to his wrist now.

Wrists. Sean's wrists are still crossed, still flat against the floor, and Sean's gasping for breath.

"Jesus," Christian pants, leaning down--he gets his hand out from between them, but doesn't put it on the floor or on Sean; he needs to get that cleaned up and soon--and he licks over Sean's lips, coaxing Sean's mouth open and kissing him hard and deep. Sean strokes his tongue against Christian's and lets Christian in, and Christian groans, finally just stretching out across Sean's body and resting there.

After they've both caught their breath, Christian reaches up to Sean's hands, sliding his hand up to where Sean's wrists are crossed. "You can let these go now," he murmurs.

"Thank you, sir," Sean murmurs back. He slides his arms down and wraps one of them around Christian's waist--a little hesitantly. "Is that all right?" he asks.

"It's fine," Christian says, turning his face to nuzzle against Sean's neck. "It's fine."


	8. Service

Christian has lunch sent up to the room. When it arrives, Sean takes one look at it and has a fair guess about why they're here instead of in the dining room. Everything Christian ordered is neat and cut into bite-sized pieces. There are also a few saucers--deeper than a plate, not as deep as a bowl--and a covered, heated platter with damp towels on it. Sean puts the cover back on, wondering how long those towels will stay warm--probably at least through lunch.

"Are you ready?" Christian asks. Sean looks back over his shoulder--Christian's just coming out of the bathroom, dressed again, but his hair's still damp, and he's barefoot.

"I think so, sir." Sean looks down at the food again. There's more than he'll be able to eat, but it's going to be interesting learning how to take all these different things by hand.

"Actually--wait. There's something we should do for you first."

Sean turns around completely this time; Christian's disappearing into the bathroom again. He comes out with the collar Sean's been wearing, and he gestures with one hand for Sean to turn around. Sean does, and Christian slips the collar onto him--he doesn't even need Sean to help hold it in place while he gets it settled. It's the same as last time Sean wore it--cool at first but warming quickly, tight enough to feel but not tight enough to choke. Sean closes his eyes; maybe it shouldn't feel this right, but it does.

"There," Christian murmurs. He runs his fingers back and forth across the collar, across Sean's skin, and Sean shivers. "Let's get you some cushions; there's no need for you to be uncomfortable."

They pile up a few cushions beside the table, and Christian arranges the plates where he can reach them, with the hot towels off to the side. He sets a saucer down on the floor and opens a bottle of water for it, filling it nearly up to the rim.

"A lot of owners like the look of a slave lapping at a saucer, but it's a pain trying to actually drink that way. If you want to do it for show, you're welcome to practice at it today. If you like it, I'll put a saucer down for you tomorrow, but if you can't stand it, then don't worry about it. And if you have a saucer but you're actually thirsty, let me know and I'll give you a glass of water."

Sean nods; it makes sense. "Thank you, sir," he murmurs. He kneels down on the cushions and gets himself settled. Christian slips into his seat and rests a hand on the back of Sean's neck--on the back of Sean's collar--while he looks over the plates. He eats a few bite-sized sandwiches, then takes his hand off Sean's collar and offers one of them to Sean.

It's not as hard as Sean thought it might be. Christian's hand is just below the level of Sean's chin, so Sean only has to lean forward a bit to get the sandwich bite. There's nothing left on Christian's palm, but if there were, Sean would have an easy time licking it up.

"Good," Christian says softly. "How was that?"

Sean glances up at him. "Good, sir--was that a pesto aioli?"

Christian laughs. "Okay, your call. You don't need to be walked through this, that's fine." He offers Sean another sandwich bite, and spends the rest of lunch alternating between feeding himself and feeding Sean.

Sean goes down to the floor once to lap at the water, which is messier than he'd have liked it to be. He ends up with water on his nose and on his chin, and he shakes his head when he comes up. "I see what you mean about the water," he admits, but his words trail off fast as he looks up at Christian.

Christian's staring at him, eyes dark, and he reaches out to grab Sean by the ring on the front of his collar, pulling him in. Sean barely has time to get his mouth open as Christian kisses him, and it's a rough, controlling kiss, one of Christian's hands on Sean's collar, the other one cupping the back of Sean's head. Sean groans and turns his body to face Christian, sliding his hands behind his back; whatever he's done, if this is the result, he needs to figure out how to do it again. _Soon._

Christian turns, too, pushing his chair back and spreading his legs apart, drawing Sean closer, between them. He slips the hand cradling the back of Sean's head down his back, over his shoulders, and then he puts both hands on Sean's shoulders and pushes him back.

"I'm not going to be able to keep them off you," Christian murmurs. Sean drops his head and rubs his cheek against Christian's knee; Christian reaches into Sean's hair and grips it hard, pinning Sean's head down. "Be still. We're not done with lunch yet, and--" He looks away for a moment, then looks back at Sean; Sean lowers his eyes. "And I shouldn't be getting so goddamned distracted."

Sean's got a thousand questions about that remark, but Christian lets him go and all but pushes him upright, turned back around on his cushions. Christian pulls his chair back in front of the table and looks over what he's got left.

There are warmer things, smooth things, desserts that leave a little sticky cream or jelly on Christian's palm and need to be licked up. Sean tries the water dish again, but it's no less messy this time around, and this time he doesn't get the same reaction from Christian--there's no kiss, no immediate response at all, but Christian hands him a cloth napkin to dry his face off.

At the end of lunch, Christian hands over a hot towel, and Sean's surprised to find it's still warm, despite how long they've been at this. He wipes his face off, hoping he hasn't been too messy, and Christian takes the towel back, looking down at Sean. He cards his fingers through Sean's hair, and Sean leans in again, resting his face against Christian's thigh. Christian sighs, but he doesn't try to correct Sean; he just keeps stroking Sean's hair.

"What I said before--about getting distracted," Christian murmurs. Sean nods. "I'm supposed to be here to work with you. To get you ready for whoever you'll be sold to at the end of the month."

_And you're not doing that?_ Sean wonders. "Sir?"

Christian's fingers twist into the hair at the back of Sean's neck, and they twist hard; Sean sets his teeth together and hisses out a breath, breathes through the pain and the arousal from being held down. "Is there anything I've done to you that you haven't liked?"

"I've liked everything, sir." Sean closes his eyes. "I could--if it isn't overstepping, sir, I could take more than you've been giving me."

"More of what?"

God, and there's the question Sean has never known how to answer. Not here, not before, not with David and Karl. "I don't know, sir," Sean murmurs. "I always thought I'd know it when I saw it."

"But you haven't seen it yet?"

Sean flashes back to the other morning when Christian held him down and fucked him with a dildo until Sean begged; he remembers falling apart under Christian's belt and knowing he could take more than Christian was giving him. He thinks about the collar, the leash, the way it felt being led around that way. He shakes his head.

Christian sighs and scratches his fingernails through Sean's hair; Sean shudders in response. "Let's see how tomorrow goes. I want you to keep thinking about this, though, because next week--whatever it is you're looking for, it's my job to help you find it."

"Yes, sir."

Christian doesn't seem inclined to move, and Sean's not going to ask why. It's not the way Sean expected lunch to end, but he won't question it. That's not what he's here for.


	9. Been There Before

After Christian leaves, Sean looks through the directory for Jason's number. He's prepared to leave a message--_hi, Jason, this is Sean, not sure if you remember me, but I'm working with Christian this month, and I wondered if you had some time to spare_\--but instead there's a click, and Jason's on the other end of the line, saying, "Hello?"

"Oh--hello, is this Jason?"

"It is, who's this?"

"This is Sean. Ah--you might not remember me, but I'm working with--"

"--Christian, right. I do remember you. How are you?"

"Fine." Sean laughs. "Nervous, but mostly fine. Do you have any time to spare tonight?"

"I have Wednesdays off, so I've got all the time you want. Have you had dinner yet?"

"No..."

"It's a nice enough day; why don't you meet me outside in the garden? I'll go downstairs and pick something up, and I'll see you in--oh, fifteen minutes?"

"Sure. Oh, ah--the slaves' gardens, right?"

"Yeah. Just pick out something with a table; I'll find you. It's not that big a garden."

"I suppose not," Sean says. "And--thanks."

"Not a problem. See you soon."

Fifteen minutes later, Sean's found a picnic table, which he's got all to himself, and he spots Jason walking out of the building with a sack in hand. It looks like nothing so much as a takeout bag, and when Jason gets to the table, he pulls out a half-dozen cartons--Chinese-food style cartons--as well as plates, chopsticks, forks, and the ubiquitous bottled water.

"Anything with a red star is liable to blow the roof of your mouth off," Jason warns, pointing at the three cartons with red stars. "The rest is pretty safe."

"Thanks," Sean says. He digs into the cartons--everything's hot, and everything smells fantastic. "Tell me you didn't cook on your night off just for me."

Jason laughs. "No, I just called down and had them throw it together for me. The kitchen runs all right without me--it had to for years, so it's not like I'm their only hope. And don't get me wrong, I do love cooking, but a day off is a day off. You appreciate those a little more after..." He pauses and looks up at Sean for a moment. "After going into this line of work," he finishes.

"Can I ask about that?" When Jason nods, Sean puts his fork down and sits up a little straighter. "How long have you been--how long were you--"

"You can say it," Jason says softly. "A slave. Eight years, and they weren't bad years. Christian trained me, and then I had a few six-month contracts. I had a two-year contract with one owner, and then a four-year contract with another, and now I'm back here, and I've got some money saved and a paying job that doesn't ask me to serve anyone anything but food. It's a lot better than where I was before." Jason takes a bite of something blow-the-roof-of-your-mouth-off hot and points his chopsticks at Sean. "What about you?"

"Christian keeps telling everyone it's the first week of my month in training. I'm guessing that means something to people."

Jason raises an eyebrow, but then nods. "People who come here despite being financially sound are given a mandatory single month of training. After that, their trainer makes a call about whether they go on the market or not."

"People keep telling me it's not a vacation, it's a job, that it's not something to get excited about..."

"But you can't help it?"

Sean looks down at his plate and pushes his food around. "I keep waiting for the ground to give out under me. What I've been doing this week has been... it's been good."

"You're going to lunch tomorrow, aren't you?" Sean nods. "Well, wait until you're through with the lunch, and then see how you feel about the ground. It might shift some."

"Does that mean Christian's been going easy on me?"

Jason shrugs. "Hard to tell. He doesn't have a reputation for going easy on people, but I haven't exactly been there to see what he's doing with you."

"Position work. Sex. Some pain work. He's still trying to figure out where my pain limits are."

That makes Jason grin, although Sean can see him trying to keep the expression in check. "He's got a hell of a strong arm. I'm surprised you can still sit down."

"We got to about six before he--" Why he's feeling shy about this, Sean doesn't know; it's not as if Jason hasn't been through exactly the same things Sean has. More of them, no doubt. "Before he fucked me. I took a nap for a while, I was stiff for a while, but I took a good hot bath and I was fine the next morning."

"So you're okay with pain."

"Seems that way. I would have said otherwise before I got here. Pain scares me."

"There are always owners who hit harder than trainers--even trainers like Christian who really _like_ hurting people--but by the time he's done with you, you probably won't be afraid of it anymore."

"Which is frightening in and of itself," Sean mutters at his plate, stabbing at another piece of beef. _Trainers like Christian who really **like** hurting people._ That's a phrase Sean's likely to remember--not that he hadn't guessed, but it's interesting to hear confirmation that it's not just the job for Christian, it's something that actually gets him off. "I think he could make me like damn near anything."

"You're right about that," Jason murmurs. Sean glances up at him. "If you're having second thoughts, get out. If you can afford to get out, get out. You can't walk into this and not have it change you."

"I don't want to leave," Sean says. He stares right into Jason's eyes, and Jason stares back; neither one of them backs down. "I could probably go the rest of my life building slaves' quarters and getting used along the way. It's never been enough--I just didn't know where else to go."

Jason finally nods at that. "All right," he says. "Fair enough--I'm not going to say I know better than you, because I don't. What I can say is that it's more of a crapshoot than you might be thinking, and the hardest part of being a slave is ending up owned by someone you're not compatible with. Six months with someone whose needs and wants don't line up with yours--they can drag on for what seems like forever."

"I've been down that road before," Sean says quietly. "I've spent a lot of time there. I know what you're getting at, but I think knowing there's a finish line--" _and that it's no one's fault_, he thinks, but he doesn't say it aloud-- "might help a lot."

"It does," Jason agrees. "And even when you've found someone you like, even when things are good... it doesn't mean you won't wake up one day and think _What the fuck am I doing here?_ We all have days like that."

"How many people like me actually make it through a month's training?"

"I honestly don't know. Christian might have a guess. Maybe one in ten? One in twenty? There aren't a lot of people like you here to begin with--I think you're the third or fourth I've met in person, and I've been around for more than eight years."

Sean looks down at his food again, nodding. The place isn't empty by any means. From everything Christian's said, a lot of slaves move through Eclipse every month. That's a lot of people who are slaves because their other options are worse. A lot of people who'd probably trade lives with Sean in a heartbeat.

He thinks back to this afternoon, being collared and on his knees at Christian's side, eating out of his hand, and he shakes his head, hard, before looking back up at Jason.

"Has it ever been more than the job for you?"

"More than the job...?"

"I mean--have you ever been with someone that was more than just an owner to you?"

Jason pauses for a moment, both eyebrows raised. "Are you asking about friendship or love?"

"I don't--" Sean shrugs, glances away again. "Both, I guess."

"Some of the men who've owned me have been friends. There's at least one I could go to if I ever needed anything, and he'd make sure I was taken care of, and he wouldn't expect anything out of me in return."

"Sounds like a good friend." Sean wonders if there's anyone in his life like that; probably not.

"He is. But the day I met him was one of those Thursday lunches, the last one of the month, and I found out how he likes his dick sucked a hell of a lot sooner than I found out his favorite color, or that he has an inexplicable love of hockey. It's different being friends with someone who's owned you."

"I can understand that."

"As for love--love's more complicated. On both sides."

Sean frowns. "What do you mean?"

"It can be really fucking awkward having your owner think he's head-over-heels in love with you--as long as you're his property. Funny how love doesn't always mean they want you to have your freedom."

"Not so funny."

"No. Not so funny." Jason sighs. "And falling for them--I fell hard for the first man who owned me. He was kind. He was easy to get along with. He was probably right when he told me what I felt was more about gratitude than love. I learned a lot with that first contract."

Sean winces anyway. "Are you still in touch with him?"

Jason shakes his head. "Probably better for everyone concerned that I'm not. He does still contract through Eclipse, but he's had other contracts since me, and near as I can tell, he never felt about me the way I felt about him. Whatever that might have been."

"I'm not really expecting to find true love this way," Sean admits. "I'm not that naïve. I just want--Christ, I don't know how to explain it. All I know is I wasn't getting anywhere before, and now it feels like I might. Maybe that's stupid. I'm not sure what else to do."

Jason's quiet for a while, long enough Sean goes back to eating out of sheer nervousness. It's a lot to say to a complete stranger, and Jason's circumstances were different. Sean's not explaining it very well, which doesn't help, either.

But Jason nods in the end, digging into the bottom of one of the cartons and fishing out the last piece of chicken. "I hope you find what you're looking for," he murmurs.

"Thanks," Sean says. "I hope I do, too."


	10. Shock To The System

Bill's made a habit out of rolling with it when Christian wants something. He rolls over a hell of a lot more than Christian does, which is to say almost never; it might not be Bill's first choice, but then, Bill's first choice is Christian, and Christian's worth it. On the rare evening when Christian wants to bottom, Bill tends to fuck first and think about it later.

Tonight's no exception, and he's going in deep and hard almost as soon as Christian's got the condom on him, one hand on the back of Christian's shoulderblade pinning him down, the other one gripping Christian by the hip and pulling him back against Bill's thrusts. He _shouldn't_, God, he should think about this first, be careful, ease off, but it's been how many months since he got to fuck Christian? Three at least. He wants to watch Christian walking around wincing the rest of the night; he wants to wake up and see bruises on Christian's hip where he's holding onto him. Five fingerprint bruises he can lick and bite at and suck on just before Christian grabs him by the hair and fucks his throat so hard he can't talk for two days.

The sweat's rolling down Bill's back, down his chest, and Christian's shoving back into every thrust, growling into the pillows, every so often grinding out a word like _more_ or _harder_ or _bastard_. Bill's been ready to come since they got started, but he draws it out, making it last. Every time he gets close, he pushes in nice and deep and holds himself still for a few seconds, holds Christian still.

He draws in a slow, ragged breath, and squeezes Christian's hip. "You're so fucking hot," he whispers. "I want to come in you."

"_Yeah_\--"

"I want to come with you _screaming_."

Christian groans, nods against the pillows. "Yeah--motherfucker, come on, _hurt_ me--"

Bill's eyes snap shut, and he starts up again, hips slamming hard against Christian's ass, pushing in as deep as he can get, going in so fast and rough that even Christian can't pretend it's nothing, that Christian throws his head back and _yells_, and it's so fucking blindingly good that Bill comes with a yell of his own, everything going grey and hazy around the edges until he gets his breath back.

He rolls to Christian's side and strips the condom off, collapsing onto his back. He glances down at Christian's hip--oh, yeah, he's going to have bruises for a few days. Bill grins.

"Did you--"

Christian pushes himself up on his hands and knees as he shakes his head. Bill raises his eyebrows, licks his lips, but Christian just stays put, catching his breath.

"Come here," Christian murmurs. "Just need a little more--please?"

_Please_, Bill thinks, and he nods, but when he gets behind Christian, he's frowning. This is deeper than he's been thinking--not just Christian being nice and letting Bill top for a change, but something else entirely.

He settles in with his hips up against Christian's ass and puts his hand on Christian's hip again, slipping his fingers over Christian's bruises. He reaches around with his other hand and wraps it around Christian's cock, and Christian moans, pushing back against Bill. _God, if this were twenty years ago,_ Bill thinks, and even if he can't fuck Christian now, he can grip the hell out of Christian's dick and jerk him off rough enough to make Christian wince.

And that's what it takes, in the end: Christian grits his teeth, hands clenched into fists, and he comes with a growl and a groan, cock pulsing in Bill's hand. He falls right on his face when he's done, landing square on the wet spot. Bill frowns at that, too.

He stretches out at Christian's side and rests a hand on Christian's shoulder. "Hey," he murmurs. "I'm right here. Right here."

Christian nods, and Bill settles in, wrapping that arm around Christian's back and pulling him close. "Right here," he murmurs again, resting his cheek against Christian's shoulder. "I'm not going anywhere. Lean on me."

He doesn't--not literally, not at first--but after a while, he rolls over on his side, facing Bill, and Bill slides his fingers through Christian's hair. "Talk to me about this," Bill says. There's a little more command backing his words up than there usually is, but if Christian needed to be pushed that hard tonight--pushed hard enough to come hurting, pushed hard enough to need bruises--he'll put up with that tone of voice. "What's going on?"

Christian shakes his head. "Work."

"Sean?"

Christian looks away. "Tomorrow's Thursday."

"Going to take him to lunch?"

"Yeah. He was--I had him doing some handfeeding today. I let him try licking up water out of a dish."

Bill nods, forcing himself not to picture that. Some slave Christian's really into, kneeling on the floor, lapping up water--_stop it, Jesus, don't go there right now._ He grimaces as his dick twitches, and he shifts a little to keep it the hell away from Christian. It's not like Christian doesn't know Bill's had slaves who did that sort of thing--and looked damned good doing it--but they really don't need to talk about it right now. "How'd it go?"

Christian squeezes his eyes shut, rolls onto his back and covers his face with both hands. "He's a fucking natural," he murmurs. "He looked--he was good."

"You don't think he's going to wash out, do you?"

Christian snorts. "It's been three days. Half the people who wash out are gone by now. He just wants everything--more of everything--every time I give him something. I fuck him and he wants more. I hurt him and it's not enough. Now I've got him looking at service and I think he's trying to fucking kill me."

Startled, Bill blurts out, "Since when do--" Shit. Now it's out there; he can't take it back. "Since when do you like service that much?" Bill asks, trying his best to keep his tone gentle.

"I don't. You know I don't." Christian rubs at his forehead. "But looking at him--I just wanted to keep him on his knees that way. Between fucking him and bruising him. If I could afford six months with one of the slaves from Eclipse..."

Bill's glad Christian has his eyes shut, because he's sure the look on his face has gone from "startled" to "shocked". He takes a few seconds, trying to recover. "Hey..." He slides a hand onto Christian's chest. "You want me to go to lunch tomorrow?"

"What?" Christian opens his eyes and frowns up at Bill. "What do you mean?"

"Do you want me to meet this guy?" Christian still looks confused; Bill sighs. "Maybe you can't afford six months with an Eclipse slave, but I could--"

"No." Christian sits up, wincing all the way, and pushes himself away from Bill. "No, that's not what I meant, it's not what I--God." He shakes his head. "Fuck," he whispers. "I hate that I even thought about it."

"Well, don't," Bill snaps. "You're thinking about it? That's _good_. That's what he's there for. He's not being pulled in by somebody who thinks he'd make a good slave, and he's not starving. He's there because something inside him makes him _want_ to be somebody's slave."

"He's got no fucking idea what he's in for!" Christian fires back. "He doesn't know what it's like being under someone's goddamned boots for six months, and he doesn't know what it's like to wake up every single day knowing you're somewhere you don't want to be--"

"And hey, maybe if we bring him home, he'll never have to know what that's like. It sounds like he likes you. Maybe he'd get along with me."

"Don't. Don't do that to me. Don't talk about owning people like you can make it some kind of noble act. It's still slavery."

Bill shakes his head, unwilling to argue the point; Christian would tell him that the distinction between "domestic companionship" and owning other human beings is pretty slim--and despite the last half-century of court battles and controversy, he'd be right. "It's how things are," he says flatly. "And I was pretty sure you'd made your peace with the fact that I've owned slaves."

Christian puts his head in his hand. "I don't want to do this. I don't want to be having this conversation."

"You don't want to like your guy as much as you do."

"No. Damn it."

"Because--what? It's better if you don't give a damn about him? It's better for _him_ if it's just a job for you?"

Christian's head snaps up, and he looks at Bill. "That's not what I'm saying--"

"Why do you do what you do, Christian? It's not because you don't have any other skills. You're smart. You learn fast. Hell, you've got me, and I really don't give a shit if you work at Eclipse or anywhere else, or if all you want to do is stay here and let the service staff take care of you for a change. But that's not what you're doing. So what is it about training that you like so much? What is it about training that makes you keep at it?"

"Because I'm good at it. And I like it. And maybe they learn something with me; Christ, I don't know. I learned a lot from my trainers."

Bill sighs and reaches out, cupping Christian's chin in his hand. For all of Christian's glaring, he puts up with the touch, turning to look at Bill.

"You do it because you want them to have better lives than you did. And there's nothing wrong with that. Nothing."

Christian covers Bill's hand with his; he looks down at the bed. "It's more than that."

"It gets you off," Bill murmurs, and Christian nods, closing his eyes. "I know. I've always known that. Those days you come home hot and bothered and you don't even pause to get your clothes off before you fuck me? I know those don't happen at random."

"Don't tell me it's okay. I don't want to hear that."

"Maybe there's a difference between buying somebody who's got no choice and buying somebody who's walking into it with his eyes open. Think about it." Bill strokes his thumb along Christian's cheek. "Would you bring him home if he weren't under contract to Eclipse?"

"I'd ask him."

"Ask him _now_. See what he says."

Christian shakes his head and pulls away from Bill again. "It'd just confuse him. If he gets through this first month, he's not going to get a choice. He's going to go up for auction, and somebody's going to take him home. And it's not going to be me. I've been indulging myself with him. I need to be thinking about who he's going to go home with. I need to be training him to put up with whatever they're going to expect from him." He takes a deep breath. "So tomorrow I'll take him to lunch, and we'll see who's out there. Who bites. And I'll have something to aim for."

"And you're sure you don't want me there."

It's a while before Christian nods, but he does nod. "I'm sure."

Bill sighs. "Okay. You want to come shower off with me?"

"Yeah." Christian climbs out of bed and hisses through his teeth. "_Fuck._ You don't fucking joke around with it when you're taking advantage, do you?"

That makes Bill laugh, and he comes around to Christian's side of the bed so he can wrap an arm around his waist. "You're not the only one who doesn't take things easy."


	11. Thursday Lunch

Sean's foot taps against the floor; Christian glances over at him and raises an eyebrow. "Are you all right?" he asks.

"I'm nervous as all fuck," Sean admits, taking a deep breath and stopping that rapid _tap-tap-tap_. He looks around the room, glances up at the clock. It's still only 9:35, which means they've got an hour and twenty-five minutes before the dining room's even going to open.

"Talking of that," Christian says, "I realize fucking you would probably calm you down some, but I'd rather not. Not this morning. You'll have plenty of attention over lunch." He walks over to Sean and strokes his fingers through Sean's hair. He does seem nervous, but it's the good kind of nervous, the kind that comes from excitement and anticipation. Christian's grateful for that; it's a lot easier helping a trainee through a Thursday lunch if it's clear they want to go. "We could hit the gym. Work off some nervousness with a little exercise."

Sean nods. "Yes, sir. I'd like that."

After switching into gym clothes, they head downstairs. This time of day, the gym's empty--the real rush is in the morning or after six, when the trainers have finished for the night--which means they've got their choice of machines. Sean picks out a treadmill near one of the large media screens, and Christian joins him. He lets Sean pick out the media, and Sean builds a channel with music videos, ones with a fast beat. It's good, mindless entertainment; Christian can't blame Sean for wanting that right now.

Christian's running pace is fairly slow, the kind of thing he could do for ten miles, easy; Sean starts up slow but quickly gets going faster, working up a sweat. Christian's trying not to think about the fact that they're alone, that there's no one on the weight benches. He could push Sean down on one of them; he could fuck him until the sweat rolls off him--

He looks back at the media screen and tries not to think about it. Today there are going to be owners looking at Sean, and Christian'll get some clue what he's training Sean for. Someone with a kink for service, maybe. Someone who likes caning. Someone who likes mind games. Whatever it is, he'll have a goal. It'll help. It _has_ to help.

After a half-hour or so, Sean shuts the treadmill down. "Better," he says, a little winded. "I think I'd like to take a shower now, sir."

Christian's feeling fine, but a shower doesn't sound like a bad idea to him, either. He shuts down his treadmill and the media screen and leads Sean into the locker room.

It's deserted here, too; Sean and Christian are the only ones in the showers. Sean strips off and takes a cool shower--Christian can feel the cold air moving in his direction, and he'd grin if it weren't for the fact that a cool shower sounds good to him, too. Neither one of them's shivering by the time they're done, but most of Christian's thoughts about pushing Sean up against the tile and biting bruises onto his neck have faded by the time he's actually gotten himself clean.

He's about to turn the water off when he notices Sean staring at him. More specifically, Sean's looking at Christian's hip, and Christian frowns, looking down at it himself. He sighs and rolls his eyes; _thanks, Bill_. "You can ask, if you want," Christian says.

Sean jumps a little, looking like a kid who's just been caught with his hand in the candy jar. "No, I'm sorry, sir--it's none of my business--"

"I have a lover," Christian says. "We play rough at home sometimes." He grimaces down at the bruises. "Not usually like that," he mutters.

"Does he work for Eclipse, too?"

"No, we--" Christian sighs. "We met at the auction--there's an auction in Hawaii once a year. He's a member, not an employee."

Sean just nods at that, and Christian's grateful when the questions stop. They finish with their showers and shut the water down, and Christian takes Sean back upstairs.

Back up in Christian's room, ten minutes to go, Christian points at the couch. "Take a seat," he says, and he gets the cuffs and collar they've been using. He buckles the first cuff onto Sean, and Sean closes his eyes. "Going to be all right?" Christian murmurs.

"I'll be fine, sir."

"It won't be like this the next time," Christian says, moving to Sean's other wrist. "You'll know what to expect, and you'll have a better idea about who's going to be there."

Sean opens his eyes at that; he tilts his head a little. "Do the owners make a regular habit out of these lunches?"

"When they're shopping, yes. You'll see several of them more than once before you actually go up for auction. It's one of the few opportunities they have to see how you'll perform in front of a group, or just to get their hands on you. The more they can see you before they actually bid, the better. Let me have your ankle." Sean lifts his foot up, and Christian buckles on one of the ankle cuffs, then takes Sean's other foot and buckles on the other. Sean's pants are long enough to cover all but a glimpse of the leather, but it isn't as if ankle cuffs get a lot of use at these breakfasts anyway; owners tend to be too interested in moving slaves around to want to buckle them to anything.

All the same, Christian pockets a handful of double clips, and he moves out into the center of the room, snapping his fingers at the floor in front of him. Sean slides off the couch and crawls over, and Christian sets his teeth together; he really didn't need to see that right now.

"Turn around," Christian murmurs. Once Sean's facing away from him, he buckles the collar on and then slides his hand around the front of Sean's throat. "If you get into trouble, if someone does something that you need to be away from immediately, you find me. Nobody gets to be alone with you unless I say so, and nobody gets to hurt you or fuck you unless they clear it with me first. Don't let anyone tell you different."

"No, sir," Sean whispers. "I'll wait for orders from you."

Christian rests both his hands on Sean's shoulders and closes his eyes. "I know," he whispers back. He steps back and grabs Sean's leash off the coffee table. "On your feet. I think we can go downstairs now."

Sean stands up, and Christian puts the leash on him, looking right into Sean's eyes when he does it. Sean's eyes are dark, his expression controlled, and Christian reels the leash in until there's barely four inches between his hand and Sean's collar, no slack left at all.

"Come on," Christian growls. "Let's show you off."

* * *

They aren't the first people there, which surprises Christian. There's a girl over on the far side of the room, someone Christian only vaguely recognizes--he thinks her name is Sophia. Her trainer, though, that's Trevor, and Christian nods at him in greeting.

He takes Sean over to a table near Trevor's--just far enough to give them a hint of privacy, not that privacy is going to be a concern in a few minutes. Sean nods at Sophia, who winks back at him, and Christian takes up the slack on Sean's leash and drags him to his knees. Sean settles down on a cushion and slides his hands behind his back.

"Nice," Trevor says. "Is this the one who came in last weekend?"

"That he is."

"And you've already got him working a lunch. I'm impressed."

Christian reaches out and rests his hand on the back of Sean's neck. It isn't subtle, but fuck it. Right now he doesn't much feel like being subtle. "He's doing well," he says. He unclips Sean's leash and loops it over the back of his chair. "I'm just hoping he'll find the right owner."

"I can make some calls if you'd like," Trevor offers. "I'm sure I know a few people who'd be interested."

"I'll keep that in mind," Christian says. "How's your girl?"

"It's our third month looking for an owner for her," Trevor admits. "We'll get there." She settles her head on Trevor's knee, and he runs his fingers through her hair.

There's some movement on the other side of the room, and Christian looks up to see an owner and his slave walk in. It takes Christian a minute to remember their names--David Wenham and Karl Urban.

They make a beeline for Sean, and as soon as Christian realizes that's what they're doing, he remembers who they are. Karl's the slave who gave Sean the recommendation to come to Eclipse in the first place; he and David were the last people Sean worked with before coming here.

He remembers Sean talking about the two of them--the way he'd gone quiet and blushed and gotten hard just mentioning what they'd done with him. He hasn't given Christian a lot of details, but Christian's seen enough of them around the Thursday lunches to have an idea what they'd be after from him. Christian's sorry he took the leash off Sean's collar.

David stops a respectful meter back, nodding to Christian. "Christian."

"David," Christian answers, nodding back. "How are you?"

"Doing fine, thank you. Karl heard that you had a new boy this month; we were hoping he'd be here today."

Christian puts his hand back on Sean's neck; there's something about the way Karl's looking at Sean that makes Christian want to stamp _mine_ all over Sean, as fast and as rough as possible. Not a good thing for a trainer. Not at all. He takes a slow, deliberate breath, but he leaves his hand on Sean's neck. "I hear you've already met."

"We have," David says, smiling down at Sean. The man looks like a fucking shark, all teeth, as if he can't figure out where to bite first. "You do know Karl was the one who gave Sean his recommendation, right?"

Christian looks at Karl and nods. "Good to see you again."

"Thank you, sir," Karl answers. His attention's all on Sean, too. "And it's really good to see you, Sean. How are you doing so far?"

"I'm fine," Sean murmurs. "Christian's been very good to me."

"I bet you have," David says. "We'd both love to hear all about it; if you get a chance during lunch, stop by our table."

Sean looks up at Christian, and Christian squeezes the back of his neck without taking his eyes off David for a second. "I'm glad you're interested. We'll talk more about it later," Christian says.

David smirks at him, and he and Karl move on. Christian sighs and lets Sean's neck go. "I'm sorry," he murmurs. "If you want to spend some time with them at lunch, just tell me."

"I wouldn't mind," Sean murmurs back. "I think... I'll want to talk to you after lunch is over, but for now, just send me wherever you think I need to go."

_That's just it, damn it_, Christian thinks. What Christian thinks Sean needs to do and what actually needs to happen at this lunch are wildly different things.

Having another visitor at the table is a welcome distraction from that line of thought, and when Christian looks up to see who's standing there, he smiles. "Bruce, good to see you."

"Always a pleasure." Bruce offers Christian his hand, and Christian takes it. "Can I wrangle an introduction to your new boy?"

"Of course. Bruce, this is Sean; Sean, Bruce--one of the owners I've worked with on quite a few occasions."

Bruce goes down to one knee and offers a hand to Sean; Sean takes it. "Good to meet you, Sean. I hope Christian isn't scaring you off."

"He's trying, sir, but so far I'm still here."

Bruce chuckles. "Sounds good to me. I'd love to have a chance to see more of you, but I won't keep you. Take care, both of you."

"You, too," Christian says. Sean leans to the side and rests his head against Christian's knee, and Christian closes his eyes for just a moment. As soon as that moment's over, he threads his fingers through Sean's hair, then gets a tight grip in it and drags Sean's head back.

"What was that for?" Christian asks.

"Sir--with permission--I'd like to talk about it later," Sean whispers.

"Not this time. Talk to me _now_."

"I was relieved," Sean whispers. "I was starting to wonder if you were going to chase off every potential owner who looks at me. At least there's one out there you approve of."

Christian grimaces; as usual, Sean's instincts were dead-on. This really is a conversation they should be having in private. "I'm not going to chase everyone off," he murmurs. "Do you trust me?"

"Of course I trust you," Sean says, and he says it quickly, as if he doesn't even have to think about it. Christian wonders about that, but for now he isn't going to ask.

"Then give it some time. Wait and see who else turns up."

There are a few other owners here, men and women both, and by the time the lunch is in full swing, there are at least fourteen owners milling around, looking at the available slaves. Christian's guess of six or seven turns out to have been pretty much accurate--there are eight, with two of them contracted to sell as a pair.

As expected, Sean's not drawing the most interest; the younger slaves are getting a lot of attention. Still, David and Karl are watching him closely, and Bruce stops by and feeds Sean a few bites by hand, petting him for a while afterwards as he talks to Christian about Sean's interests and talents. He draws Sean's head to his thigh, and Sean groans out loud as Bruce keeps stroking his fingers through Sean's hair.

"I have to be honest--it's been less than a week, and I don't know him as well as I want to," Christian says. "I can't give you a list of everything he's good at. What I can tell you is that he _wants_ to be good."

Bruce nods. "I've worked with slaves like that before. He sure looks like he's enjoying being on his knees."

"Sean?" Christian reaches forward and puts a hand on Sean's shoulder. "Tell Bruce how you're feeling."

Sean takes a deep breath. "Aroused, sir."

Laughing, Bruce gives a back-and-forth, scratching little caress to Sean's head; Sean shivers. Christian slides his hand down Sean's arm and, with his other hand, reaches into his pocket for a double clip; he clips Sean's wrists behind his back and watches as Sean has to take another several deep breaths before he starts regaining his composure.

"Anything more than just 'aroused', Sean?" Bruce asks.

"I'd like to serve you, sir," Sean says hoarsely. "If I'm allowed."

"Go ahead," Christian says, more to Bruce than Sean. "Does this work for you?"

"Oh, yeah. It works just fine." Bruce smiles down at Sean and runs his fingertips down Sean's cheek. "How do you feel about sucking cock, Sean?"

"I fucking love it, sir," Sean says. He's almost panting, he's so turned on, and Christian sits back in his chair to watch. Bruce pushes Sean back a little and unzips his pants, and as soon as his hand's out of the way, Sean nuzzles at his fly.

Bruce puts his hand back on Sean's head, and while Sean isn't exactly neat about it, definitely not graceful, he gets Bruce's cock out without the use of his hands. Bruce chuckles once Sean's got it, tightening his grip in Sean's hair. "Could be better trained," Bruce says, "but it's still his first week. He's got a hell of a lot of enthusiasm."

Sean comes forward, mouth sliding over Bruce's cock, and Bruce sucks in a quick, harsh breath, holding Sean's head still. He pushes in, slow, inch by inch, and Sean spreads his knees apart and just keeps taking it. Christian shifts in his seat; Sean's always looked like he loved everything, but this is something else. He's straining against Bruce's hand, throat working, sucking hard, and if Bruce is taking things this slow, it's because he wants to savor every second.

"Fuck, Christian, you've been teaching him a lot," Bruce breathes.

Christian shakes his head. "I haven't even gotten started with oral yet. This is all him."

"God." Bruce draws back and then shoves forward _hard_; Sean doesn't even gag, let alone choke. Bruce growls low in his throat. "All you, huh? Got a lot of practice sucking cock like this?"

Sean doesn't answer, but he's straining against the grip Bruce has on his hair, trying to get more. Bruce doesn't keep him waiting; he starts moving, holding Sean still as he fucks Sean's throat. Christian can see Sean's hands clenching and unclenching, wrists straining against their bonds, but he can't imagine that Sean actually wants to go anywhere--this is as concentrated and focused as Christian's ever seen him, as if the whole world is nothing but Bruce's cock down his throat.

Christian pushes his chair back and gets on his knees behind Sean; Bruce sucks in a breath, eyes narrowing, but Christian's not looking at him. He reaches around to the front of Sean's pants and tugs them down, getting Sean's cock out; he gives it a few rough strokes and then rubs his thumb against the head, smearing the slick precome all over the head of Sean's cock. Christian puts his lips at Sean's ear and murmurs "_Slut_," too soft for even Bruce to hear, but Sean's cock jerks in Christian's hand, and Bruce pushes in harder, faster.

From here, Christian can see every detail--he can see the strain in Bruce's arm, keeping Sean held back; he can see how tight and stretched Sean's lips are around Bruce's cock; he can watch Bruce's cock driving into Sean's mouth, over and over, and the way Sean's working to get as much of it as he can. Christian nuzzles against the side of Sean's neck and then bites down, and Sean's muffled cry makes Bruce hiss and draw back, leaving Sean openmouthed, tongue stretching out of his mouth to try to get Bruce's cock back.

"Holy fuck, Christian," Bruce mutters. He lets Sean's hair go, and Sean starts to bend his head forward, but Christian grabs him around the throat, holding him still. Sean whimpers, but he stays where Christian's holding him, and Bruce--with some difficulty--gets his cock put away.

"Calm down," Christian whispers to Sean. Sean leans back against Christian's shoulder, and Christian looks up at Bruce. "Is there anything else you'd like to see him do?"

"I could spend the rest of his month watching him do shit and I'd still be able to think of things I want to see him do," Bruce answers. He rubs his thumb over Sean's lips, and Sean tries to suck that into his mouth, too, but Bruce is already moving his hand away. "I've got other boys to see, but let me tell you, walking away from that--it wasn't the easiest thing I've ever done."

"Thank you, sir," Sean murmurs, hoarse even in that low tone.

"And I'll be back when I'm done seeing the rest of the room. You've got a hell of a good boy there."

"Thank you," Christian says. Bruce looks Sean up and down--and Christian can only imagine how good that looks, Sean on his knees with one of Christian's hands on his collar and the other around his cock--but he shakes his head, and he manages to walk away.

"Good boy," Christian whispers, nuzzling Sean's ear. "God, you're good."

Sean squirms back against Christian; tucked between Christian's thighs, he can almost certainly feel Christian's hard-on against his ass. "Sir, please, is there someone else I can serve, can I serve _you_\--"

"Hold still," Christian murmurs. "You'll get more attention soon enough."

* * *

Sean can hardly breathe for being so aroused. He can still taste Bruce's cock in his mouth, can still feel the way Bruce drove in, nice and solid but ultimately controlled. He feels cheated, a little; he should have gotten more than just the feel and taste of cock and being left aching for it while the owner he was serving goes looking at other slaves. He wanted to taste Bruce's come, feel it pulsing against the back of his throat.

And Christian's hands on him reminds him that none of this is up to him. None of it at all.

He settles down against Christian, grateful for all the contact, especially with his hands locked behind him. Christian loosens his grip on Sean's cock, which is a mercy, but he keeps his fingers wrapped around it, which is anything but. There's a shadow that passes over Sean's face, and he opens his eyes to see someone else standing there--like Bruce, like Sean, he's just this side of fifty; he's taller than Bruce, but not by much. Also like Bruce, he's got brown hair which is going grey, but his face isn't quite as lined, and his jaw's a lot more square. His eyes are just as blue, though they narrow as they look at Sean; Bruce seemed willing to take Sean at face value, but this owner seems to want to look right into him.

Sean would close his eyes, but he can't. He keeps looking at the owner until the owner's attention moves to Christian. "Hello there."

With Christian's cheek pressed against Sean's temple, Sean can feel Christian grinning. The relief from that is almost a physical sensation; another owner Christian approves of. God, Sean might actually get fucked. He's tempted to pray for that. "Viggo," Christian says. "How are you?"

"Not anywhere near as good as Bruce is right now," Viggo says, grinning. "I think you got almost half the room to cream their pants watching that. Do they give out bonuses for training domestic companions to suck that way?"

"Wish I could take credit for it. It's all natural."

Sean can feel his skin heat up; he hopes it isn't reaching his face, but that's probably a vain hope. There are times he can't stand being so easy to read; then again, there are times when it makes things easier. It's been some of each here.

Viggo whistles, soft and low. "Pretty impressive. I can't wait to see what he does once you've had the rest of the month to work with him."

"Neither can I," Christian admits. Sean can feel Christian's grin disappearing; he has no idea what that's about. Christian shakes his head slightly and rubs his fingers over Sean's collar, making Sean squirm; the squirm makes Christian's fingers rub against his cock. Sean groans out loud. "Can I offer you my boy, Viggo?"

"Oh, yes, you can definitely do that." Viggo chuckles and runs his thumb down the side of Sean's face, over his forehead, his eyebrow, down along his cheek and the curve of his jaw to his chin. He moves up and rests his thumb on Sean's lower lip, but instead of jumping for it the way he did with Bruce, Sean parts his lips and waits to see what Viggo wants. Christian slides his fingers down Sean's shaft and cups Sean's balls in his hand, which makes Sean groan but doesn't push him out of position. "You're still fucking evil," Viggo says to Christian, grinning. "Okay. Here's what I'd like. I want a fast, rough, sloppy blowjob that leaves his throat sore, and then I want to fuck him until he screams."

_Oh, God, please._ Sean swallows hard; it sounds amazing.

"I don't see any reason you can't have that," Christian says.

"It'll draw some attention. Can he handle a train, or are you going to need to get him upstairs?"

Christian pauses. "I don't want to take him off the floor, but no, I don't think he could handle a train right now."

Sean frowns; Viggo smirks down at him. "I think he disagrees."

"He would. He's not the best judge of his own limits just yet." Christian tightens his grip on Sean's balls, just enough to start edging Sean toward discomfort. "I don't care if it draws attention. Let's see what you do with him."

"Gladly." Viggo grins down at Sean. "Mind if I borrow his leash?"

Christian turns and grabs it off the chair; he hands it over to Viggo, and Viggo snaps it onto the front of Sean's collar. Sean licks his lips. "Please, sir--"

"Shhh," Viggo murmurs. "I don't want you to beg. Not right now. I just want you to suck me." He reels in the leash, one handful at a time, and before long Sean's getting drawn forward, pulled whether he wants it or not. Luckily for him, he wants it more than he wants anything right now; he wants it more than he wants air. Viggo pulls him forward until Sean's face is right up against Viggo's crotch--denim-covered, cock outlined down Viggo's left thigh--and Sean takes a deep breath, trying to learn Viggo's scent. He smells earthy, a little ripe; there's some sweat layered under the denim, and maybe just a little bit of fabric softener. Sean rubs his face against Viggo's cock, feeling the form and shape of it. _Yes. This. Please._

He becomes aware, a minute or two later, that Viggo isn't moving him--Viggo's just holding him in place and letting him get to know Viggo's body and smell. Sean looks up at him, eyebrows raised. "What can I do for you, sir?" he murmurs.

"Oh, good boy," Viggo whispers. He still has that grip on Sean's leash, and he reaches forward and threads his index finger through the ring on Sean's collar. "I like that you're not making assumptions."

Sean nods. "Thank you, sir. May I--"

Christian's hand moves up from Sean's balls to his shaft again, and Sean's plea dies on his lips. He groans, eyes slamming shut, and Viggo's other hand comes up and cards through Sean's hair.

"Right now," Viggo says softly, "what you can do is open your mouth. And don't do more than that."

Sean parts his lips, licking them one more time before he does, and he waits with his tongue resting on his lower lip. Viggo exhales softly and pops the button on his jeans, then lowers the zipper slowly--slow enough to feel like a tease. Sean's almost coming undone, he's so ready to taste Viggo for the first time, and Christian's grip on his cock is _not_ helping.

But the pace is all about what Viggo wants, and Viggo wants to take it slowly. He brings his cock out and strokes it a few times, and Sean can't get any closer and won't move his tongue forward against orders. He waits, trying to breathe evenly, and Viggo lets his cock rest against Sean's lips, against his tongue.

Viggo lets go of Sean's collar, but Christian's right behind him, and he takes up the leash instead. Viggo buries both hands in Sean's hair, steadying Sean's head, and Sean opens his mouth as wide as he can--just a fraction of an inch wider, but apparently that's enough. Viggo shudders and pushes in, just the head, just inside Sean's mouth, and Sean has to close his eyes. He wants, so _fucking_ badly, to tighten his lips around the head of Viggo's cock and suck hard--but he doesn't do it. He waits, and Viggo draws back and then pushes forward again, rocking in and out, taking the slick wet heat of Sean's mouth for two inches of his cock and no more. The tease might just kill Sean before Viggo's done with it.

"Steady," Christian whispers. "Do you remember what Viggo said he wanted from you?"

How could he not? _I want a fast, rough, sloppy blowjob that leaves his throat sore, and then I want to fuck him until he screams._ Sean thinks he might remember that for the rest of his life. He'll sure as hell remember it if Viggo's the one who buys him at the end of the month. He straightens up a little when Viggo pulls back next; whenever Viggo turns this fast and rough, he wants to be braced for it.

But Christian's behind him, offering support in more than just the trainer-to-slave sense. Sean can feel Christian behind him, bracing both of them for what comes next, and when Viggo starts to speed up, Sean's grateful. Viggo starts off with just another inch, just another inch after that, but pretty soon he's really thrusting in hard, sharp and urgent into Sean's mouth, and no matter how loose Sean goes, no matter how pliant, Viggo's pushing him to take more.

Sean's wrists strain against the cuffs, but it's not because he's trying to get away; if his hands were free, he'd have them curled around the backs of Viggo's thighs, pulling him in even harder. Christian's right about him--Sean's a slut, he's hungry for everything anyone wants to give him--and when Viggo drops his hands from Sean's hair and picks up the leash again, Christian reaches up and grips the hair at the nape of Sean's neck, shoving him forward in rhythm with Viggo's tugs on the leash.

Viggo groans, and Christian drags Sean back. Viggo's cock slips out of Sean's mouth; Sean pants for breath, his throat aching. "Still want to get fucked, boy?" Viggo asks. His voice is nothing but a low rumble, and Sean feels his cock responding even to that.

"Out loud," Christian whispers at Sean's ear.

Sean tries to clear his throat. It burns, and it doesn't feel any clearer. "Yes," he croaks.

"Louder," Christian says, giving Sean's head a little shake.

"Yes, please, sir, I want to be fucked," Sean says; it hurts to talk, and his voice is raspy, and to his surprise, there are a few cheers from around the room. Viggo grins down at him.

"Good boy," he says, and Sean grins, too. Viggo pulls on the leash, and Christian helps Sean to his feet--Sean's legs are unsteady after so long on his knees, and his pants are down around his thighs, making movement awkward. But the table's right there, and after Christian's cleared the dishes out of the way, Viggo levers Sean down on his chest, hands still clasped behind his back. He pushes Sean's pants down and off, and Sean steps out of them. Facing away from the room, Sean can't see who might be watching, but he wonders if Christian was serious about keeping this just to Viggo or if he'll get fucked by more of the people here--Bruce, maybe, Karl and David for certain, who else? A few owners looked like they'd have gladly fucked Sean given half a chance.

Viggo unclips the leash from the front of Sean's collar and runs his hand down the center of Sean's back, down to the clip holding Sean's cuffs together, and he presses down hard against that, pinning Sean's arms in place. "How much do you want this?" he asks.

"So much, sir," Sean moans. It comes out as a whisper, and Viggo reaches down and pinches Sean's ass, twisting the skin and making Sean yelp hoarsely.

"Louder, boy. I want everybody to hear you." Viggo rubs his thumb in a slow circle over the spot he just pinched; it's a more muted pain than the pinch and the twist, but it still hurts. "I want you to _know_ they can hear you."

"Please, sir, please fuck me," Sean says, as loud as he can; his voice is brittle, breaking more than once, but it's loud enough to get a whistle out of the crowd. Viggo slaps Sean's ass, still right over that same spot, and Sean jumps. "Thank you for hurting me, sir!"

Viggo reaches down and gets his hand into Sean's hair. "You like that, too? Getting hurt?"

"Yes, sir!" Sean says immediately, only realizing afterward that pain's supposed to scare him. _So much for that_, he thinks; right now he's just hoping Viggo's going to hurt him some more.

"You want to go home with an owner who's going to bruise you?"

_Oh, God._ Sean's cock jerks between his legs, and he tries to nod, but Viggo's got him pinned flat. "Yes, sir, _yes_, please!"

"Oh, boy, you have no idea how badly the owners in this room want to see you hurting," Viggo murmurs. "We've been watching you all day hoping someone would get permission for that."

"You can hurt him," Christian murmurs, off to Sean's left. "Within reason."

Viggo chuckles. "Whose standards of 'reason' are we talking about?"

"I know yours," Christian says. "Those'll do."

"Thank you," Viggo murmurs. He slides his hand down from Sean's hair, over his arms, down to his ass, and Sean closes his eyes, trying to prepare for this. Viggo starts off with a hard slap that sends Sean jerking forward against the table, gritting his teeth together and breathing fast. It isn't going to have warmup like the times Christian's given him a bare-handed spanking; this is going to be fast and merciless.

"I want you to count loud enough for everyone to hear," Viggo says. "Don't thank me; I'm going to go fast. If you miss a number, pick up when you can. If you don't think you can keep counting, you can scream for me instead."

"Yes, sir!" Sean says; he feels like he's shouting, but it's only enough to get his voice at a loud speaking tone.

"Start from one," Viggo says. "_Now._"

And he brings his hand down, just as hard and solid as the first slap. Sean yells out, "One!", and the rest are a quick, furious haze, the adrenaline jolt of pain surging up his spine and making his whole body flush with need. He manages to keep pace with Viggo, barely, his voice barely recognizable by the time Viggo hits _fourteen_, but what matters is that Viggo's hurting him as if he has every right to--and if Sean's lucky, if he's very lucky, Viggo's going to use him, and it's going to be rough.

He stumbles over twenty-two but picks up again at twenty-four; at thirty, he's losing more numbers than he's managing to call out. His skin's throbbing--it feels like it's hot enough to glow, and he knows how red his ass has to be--but Viggo isn't ready to stop just yet. He makes it to forty, and finally to fifty, and Sean does manage to call that out. And that's enough.

Viggo runs his hand over Sean's ass, and Sean struggles--he wants more, needs more, but it _hurts_, and Viggo's palm feels like sandpaper. Christian's there immediately, pinning Sean's shoulders down. "This is what it's like," Christian says quietly. "You don't get to safeword out of this."

Sean shakes his head--he doesn't _want_ to safeword out--and Viggo slides two fingers between his cheeks. Sean clenches up in spite of himself; _everything_ hurts, no matter how badly he wants it. He tries to look back over his shoulder, back at Viggo, but he can't--all he can see is Christian, looming up above him and looking down with narrowed eyes and thinned lips. And further down his body, Sean can see his erection, thick and heavy against his right thigh, close enough Sean can smell the heat and sweat between Christian's legs.

"Lube," Viggo says, and someone besides Christian must hand it over, because a second later Viggo's stroking two slick fingers into Sean's ass, forcing them past his resistance and thrusting in deep. Sean cries out, and Viggo exhales, quick and harsh. "I know it hurts," he murmurs. "You remember I told you I was going to fuck you until you scream?" Sean manages to nod. "Didn't say I'd _stop_ then," Viggo says. "Condom."

Someone's got that, too, and Viggo pulls Sean's cheeks apart and starts pushing in, and God, that's even worse--he clenches, tries to stay loose, clenches tight again. He knows he's got almost nothing--the head of Viggo's cock, if that--and that every inch is going to be a challenge, and so he sets his teeth and turns his face down to the table's surface, putting his forehead on the tablecloth and breathing long and slow.

"Good boy," Viggo murmurs. "That's it. It's going to hurt, but you're going to love it, aren't you?"

Sean whimpers; he nods. Viggo reaches up and puts his hand lightly on the back of Sean's collar.

"I'm gonna go slow at first, but as soon as you've got it all, it'll be quick and it'll burn like hell. You ready for that?"

"Yes, sir," Sean says, as loud as he can; a low murmur runs through the room. People are still watching him; it makes Sean want to look. He'll look later; he'll look once Viggo's all the way in, once he can go boneless and take the hurt as it comes to him.

The amazing thing is that Viggo really is trying to go easy; the slow, steady pace is hard, it's nearly unbearable, but he's also being about as gentle as he can be right now. He draws back for a moment, and Sean forces himself to let some of the tension go, and then Viggo's moving in again--and it's easier. Just a little.

Another minute and Viggo's hips are tight against Sean's ass, and as much as that hurts--God, he can feel the brush of Viggo's hair against his skin, and it scratches like hell--Sean feels... what he's feeling is _pride_, much as he probably shouldn't be. Viggo's hand moves down to the center of Sean's back, other hand going to Sean's hip, and he puts his weight down on both spots. It's all the warning Sean gets.

And the fuck's every bit as rough and brutal as Sean thought it was going to be; Viggo's just taking him, just _using_ him, in front of all these people who are here to see if someone in this room is going to be their property at the end of the month. Sean turns his head to the side and looks at the crowd, and while every eye's not on him, enough people are watching to make Sean's cheeks darken even further. David and Karl are watching; Karl's stroking David's cock as they take in every detail of the scene. Bruce is there, and while he's got his hand on another slave's shoulder, he's nodding, lips parted and chest rising and falling at a fast clip. He grabs the slave by the collar and shoves him over a table, on his back, and the slave goes with it, spreading his legs and clutching at the table's edges as Bruce grabs a condom and some lube and almost desperately gets them on, gets the slave prepped, pushes into him while he watches Viggo fucking Sean.

On Sean's other side, there's only Christian, and Christian's watching Viggo with his eyes narrowed so far as to be slits and nothing else; his jaw's tight, and his grip on Sean's shoulders is so tight Sean can feel Christian's fingernails digging in. If it weren't for Sean's shirt, he thinks he might be bleeding from that alone.

It's _different_, he realizes. It's not what all the other slave trainers are doing. His stomach pitches for a moment, and he wonders if he's imagining it, that look on Christian's face, the tension in Christian's body.

He closes his eyes and opens them again. It's all still there, and if this were any other place, if this were someplace where feelings weren't outweighed by rules and customs, Sean would call that look _possessiveness_. He'd think Christian actually _wanted_ him.

It's too much to hold in. Sean puts his forehead back on the table and, as Viggo speeds up, starts to cry out. The cries move into yelling, and the yells, as Viggo promised, turn into screams, and it doesn't stop anything. Sean's hurting and utterly fucking _flying_ and somewhere up above him, maybe his trainer's thinking _Mine_\--maybe _all_ these people are thinking _mine_, maybe all of them want more than just a few words or a fuck at a public lunch, and Sean stops screaming for long enough to draw in a tight breath and yell out, "Sir, _sir_, oh God, please, so close, can I come--_may_ I come, sir, oh _fuck_ please--"

"Come," Christian grits out, just as Viggo's saying, "Yes," and there's just a fraction of an instant's interruption in Viggo's rhythm, but then Sean's coming, screaming his fucking throat out and coming, and Viggo's right there with him, coming, too, voice fractured into broken groans as his cock pulses and pulses in Sean's ass.

Sean has just enough time to catch his breath before the applause starts up; Viggo pulls away from him, and someone--no, two someones, Sean can feel at least three arms--help him off the table and settle him onto the ground, on his side. Christian's there--even without his eyes open, Sean can tell it's Christian from the way he's touching Sean's face, the way he's got an arm wrapped around Sean's shoulders. Christian murmurs, "It's all right. You did so well--I'm so damned proud of you, boy," and Sean nuzzles in against Christian's chest, and the world's still out there, but Sean really couldn't give a damn about it.

* * *

It's been a long time since one of Christian's trainees has so effectively held the attention of a lunch, and Christian knows he ought to be proud of that. He lets Sean rest on him as the other owners finish their chats with other slaves, finish fucking other slaves, and eventually everyone files out of the room except Viggo.

"I know it's early," Viggo murmurs, reaching out to pet Sean's hair, "but I want you to know I'll definitely be making an offer for him."

"I appreciate it," Christian says. It's the right thing to say. It's what Sean's here for.

Knowing that doesn't help the dark twist in his gut that says he doesn't want _anyone_ owning Sean. Christ. Viggo's a good man; if anyone's going to be the right owner for Sean...

"I'd like to see him again."

"He'll be at the lunches."

"Apart from that. Privately."

"We don't do 'private' here--"

"With your supervision, of course," Viggo says. "Next week? Please."

"We'll talk about it," Christian says. He's got no call to say no, none whatsoever, and he can't say yes, either. "I need to get him upstairs."

"Can I help?"

Christian forces himself not to say _back off_. Viggo might own Sean in three weeks; it's better for Sean if he knows Viggo can be kind. It still feels like swallowing fire to say "Please," and Christian still finds himself hating it when it's Viggo who gets Sean's wrists unclipped, Viggo who rubs the tension out of them and gets that soft, grateful purr out of Sean. They both help him to his feet, help him get his clothes straightened out, and when Sean leans on Viggo for the walk to the elevator, Christian knows he's doing the right thing letting that happen. And he knows he's in trouble.


	12. Hint Of A Decision

There's a grapevine when it comes to events at Eclipse; trainers talk, ex-slaves talk, owners have plenty to say. Thursday afternoons, Eclipse's message network lights up with activity.

Bill starts watching it Thursday morning, and he's not surprised when reports start coming in. There's a lot of talk about Christian's new trainee, all of it good. Rumors say he gave Bruce Greenwood a blowjob and then Viggo Mortensen fucked his mouth, spanked him, and fucked him until he begged and screamed. Bill wishes he could've been there; he's friendly with Bruce, and he and Viggo--well, he'd enjoy watching Viggo topping someone like that, that's for certain.

Rumors also say Christian wasn't letting Sean out of his sight, and that he actually stayed in physical contact with Sean for most of the afternoon, from keeping a hand on his collar to jerking him off while people played with him. Bill believes it, which makes his eyebrows shoot up toward his hairline--and in Bill's case, that means they go quite a distance. He believes it, he can picture it, but he also knows what it means: it means Christian's letting his possessive side get the better of him.

When Christian gets home, he's quiet; he tracks Bill down in the kitchen, where Bill's sitting on a bar stool, laptop out on the bar, reading accounts from the afternoon. Bill doesn't close the window, and Christian glances at it but doesn't say anything; he slides onto the bar stool next to Bill's, puts his elbows on the bar, and folds his hands in front of him.

"Want to talk about it?" Bill asks softly.

Christian stays quiet for a while. Bill shuts the laptop down. Still looking ahead, Christian says, "I'd like you to be there next Thursday."

"Was it tough today?"

"It was everything it was supposed to be. Sean was good--very good."

Bill reaches out and puts a hand on Christian's shoulder. "Was it tough?" he asks again, softer.

"Viggo says he's going to make an offer for Sean when he goes up for auction. I don't think he'll be the only one."

Bill whistles. "Viggo doesn't usually move that fast. He must have thought your boy was something special."

"Sean was fantastic. He'd have served anyone who wanted to try him out if I'd let him."

"But you didn't."

Christian looks down at the bar and shakes his head. "I didn't even want to see Bruce or Viggo touching him, and those are two of the owners I actually like. If Wenham had tried something--"

"I heard David was the one who got him interested in Eclipse in the first place--or David's slave, anyway."

"He is--they are. Wenham's also a vicious bastard who loves playing with humiliation, and Urban's just as bad."

_Bad is relative_, Bill thinks; whatever they did with Sean, it was enough to make him think Eclipse was the place for him. "How does Sean feel about humiliation?"

"We haven't been there yet." Christian closes his eyes; Bill raises an eyebrow.

"You sure about that?"

"No," Christian murmurs. "No, I'm not. I called him a slut today. I've said that before."

"What did he do?"

"He acted like it turned him on. Maybe he likes it. Christ, I don't know anymore. I should have someone else take over his training; there's not a chance in hell I can be objective with him."

"You want someone else in charge of the rest of his training?"

"No, I fucking well _don't_," Christian growls, and he rubs at his eyes. "Damn it. I want to bring him home."

Bill squeezes Christian's shoulder. "So I'll meet him," he murmurs. "Next week. Once I've been to a lunch, I can start visiting him at Eclipse, as long as you're there to supervise. We'll see if we take to each other the way you and he have."

"Lightning in a fucking bottle," Christian murmurs. "How good are the odds?"

"Don't be pessimistic," Bill says mildly. "We've had similar tastes in subs once or twice. Remember the guy we spent the last auction week with? In Hawaii?"

"Eric?" When Bill nods, Christian nods, too. "I remember."

"I looked up Sean's file."

Christian's head snaps to the side, and he narrows his eyes at Bill. "That's supposed to be classified."

"Then Eclipse ought to have better security protocols. I took a look at him. Does he look that good in person?"

"Better."

"I wonder if he's at all interested in service. You said you'd given it a shot--"

"Don't," Christian murmurs, looking away again. "Just--not tonight. I don't want to think about it tonight."

Bill winces, feeling like an asshole; he's thinking in practical terms, in terms of what he'd need from a slave to really be happy having him around 24/7. Christian doesn't need to hear those thought processes.

"Sorry," Bill says, rubbing his hand down Christian's back. "We don't have to talk about it any more tonight. I'll be at lunch on Thursday, and we'll talk about what we want to do after that."

"Do you want to help me with my list?"

Bill frowns. "What list?"

"I need to work out a list of things for his training. Things Viggo likes. Things Sean's never done before. Things I--things I'd like to see him do. You want to help?"

"Yeah," Bill murmurs. "I'd like that. But it doesn't have to be now. How about I take you upstairs and have Josh bring us some dinner?"

"Okay," Christian says. He lets Bill guide him off the bar stool, and he heads up the stairs with him, Bill's arm around his waist the entire way up.


	13. Thinking Out Loud

Sean finally gets out of bed around five in the morning; he's pretty sure he won't be sleeping any later than that, given the way he's been tossing and turning for the last few hours. It's not about physical discomfort, although he's still feeling a nice low ache from getting spanked and then fucked hard--he's just thinking about all the different owners at lunch, about the way Christian took care of him, about...

Mostly he's thinking about Christian, which is damned inconvenient. David and Bruce and Viggo were all interested, and Viggo's already said he's planning on making an offer at the end of the month. It probably wouldn't hurt him to look up Viggo in the agency files, maybe ask around.

Instead he's thinking about the way Christian held him after Viggo was through with him, the way Christian held him down, the way Christian was right behind him, keeping him trapped for Viggo, for Bruce. _For Christ's sake. It's his fucking **job**._

It's more than that, though; for all that Sean might not have looked like he was paying a hell of a lot of attention, he did notice that most of the other trainers were giving their slaves a lot more freedom to work, flirt, fuck, and talk to owners. Sean never got to leave Christian's side--hell, for most of the lunch, he wasn't out of Christian's reach.

Sean throws an arm over his eyes and sighs. They really do need to talk about it.

He eventually crawls out of bed and showers, then checks his messages at one of the media screens. There's a note from Jason, sent all of fifteen minutes ago: _If you're awake and don't know what to do with yourself before Christian gets here, stop by the kitchen. I'll put you to work and we can talk, if you'd like, or I can just put you to work._

Five minutes later Sean's in the kitchen, washing off berries and assembling yogurt parfaits. Jason wasn't joking about putting him to work, but Friday morning's not a rush time. It's a while before Sean actually works up the nerve to start talking; Jason doesn't look surprised when he does, though.

"So I'm guessing you heard about yesterday."

Jason nods. "Heard a bit. Thought you might want something to take your mind off it this morning."

Sean looks up, startled. "Oh, God, no, it wasn't like that--I mean, it wasn't _bad_\--"

"No, sorry, I didn't mean it that way." Jason looks at Sean and puts his knife down long enough to reach out and give Sean's shoulder a squeeze. "Just that the first time you're in a position like that can--it can weigh damn heavy on your thoughts, at the very least."

"Now there's an understatement," Sean murmurs. "It was intense. I had some trouble sleeping last night."

"I'm not surprised. Did you meet anyone you liked?"

"Apparently I'm not very particular," Sean says, sighing. "I liked all of them."

Jason snorts. "It doesn't mean you're not particular. It just means you're in the right place."

"Looks that way. So--tell me if I'm overstepping--"

"Not too likely, but I will, if you are."

"--but I remember you and Christian mentioning Viggo, and I can't imagine there are very many men around named that--"

"I just know the one. Viggo Mortensen. About your height and build, brown hair, blue eyes, our age..."

"That'd be him, then," Sean murmurs. "He was your last owner?"

"Yes, he was. And he ran you through a scene, I hear."

Sean has to put his berries down; he rests against the counter for a few seconds, color moving up his chest and into his cheeks. He nods.

Jason slides a hand onto Sean's shoulder again, this time running it down his arm and covering Sean's hand with it. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"I have no fucking idea. I don't know what to say." Sean exhales through his teeth. "He was very intense, but very good at what he was doing, and it felt like he was reading me perfectly. But God, who knows--I felt that way before I got here, with David and Karl, and I felt that way with Bruce at lunch, and I feel that way all the fucking time with Christian."

"In all honesty, you don't look like you're very hard to read," Jason says. He reaches up again, draws the backs of his fingers across Sean's cheek. "Not that I've seen you on the job, but if you blush this much just thinking about it the day after..."

Sean gives Jason a wry grin and nods. "Yeah. There's that, and--I'm not exactly shy about begging for things." He shakes his head. "Let me ask you something else. Is it normal to want to make your trainer proud of you?"

"I guess it depends on who your trainer is. How well you get along. I had several trainers when I was working here; how they felt about me mattered sometimes, and I didn't give a damn about what some of them had to say. They all tend to be looking for different things." Jason crosses his arms over his chest and leans back against the counter opposite Sean's; Sean has to turn around to keep looking at him. "I cared about what Christian thought of me."

"I care about that, too," Sean murmurs. "I'm trying to learn everything I can, but--half the time we're working together I get distracted, and all I care about is pleasing _him_. I don't know if that's the right way to go about this or not."

"I'm not sure there's any one right way of going about it," Jason says. "Learning to please someone for the sake of pleasing someone is somewhat universal, but if what you're doing is trying to please Christian in particular--"

"That's the question, isn't it?" Sean says. He shakes his head. "I need to talk to him. We didn't have much of a chance yesterday; he held onto me until I was all right again, and he got me back to my room, but it was long past time for him to leave by then. Did you know he was a slave once?"

Jason nods. "For a long time. He ran a lot of monthly contracts, and then he ended up as a trainer."

"And he doesn't own anyone. No--he says he's _never_ owned anyone."

For a moment, it looks as if Jason wants to say something, but he stops and shakes his head. "Not that I know of."

Sean frowns. "What does that mean?"

"It means you should talk to him about it," Jason says softly. "But you should figure out what it is you're trying to learn, first."

"What I'm trying to learn," Sean repeats, thinking it over. He nods, once, and then looks up at Jason again. "These aren't the first owners I've been around."

"I figured as much, what with the referral system..."

"So I've been around owners, and I've been around owners who like to double-team with their slaves, and--" Sean pauses. "I know what it's like when someone's fucking me because it's a job. And what it's like when they're fucking me and getting off on it."

Jason raises an eyebrow. "All right," he says carefully. "And with Christian..."

"You're the one who said it in the first place--that he really likes hurting people."

"I--yeah, I probably did say that," Jason says, wincing. "I've never talked to him about it; it was just something I could tell from the way he acted when he worked with me--"

"I think I would have figured it out on my own," Sean says dryly. "But it makes me wonder why the hell he doesn't own someone, if this is what gets him off--"

Jason puts up both hands. "And this is where I draw the line," he says. "I can't answer anything about that; I can't even come _close_ to answering it. You need to talk to him if you want to find out what makes him tick, whether he was holding onto you yesterday because you needed it or because it was where he wanted to be."

"He was the only trainer who stayed that close to someone. Everyone else was free to move around and be used and touched and hurt and fucked, and then there was Christian, and he was..." Sean trails off, unable to figure out exactly what he wants to say about how Christian was acting; he closes his eyes. "And Christ, I hope to fuck I don't look that fragile, because I'm _not_. For all I know, he's been treating me the way he has because he thinks I'm going to break at any minute."

"Most of the people who don't come here out of financial necessity are gone long before they get to a Thursday lunch," Jason says. "And if they make it through Thursday, they're gone Friday. I don't know how many people like you he's worked with."

Sean nods. He glances over his shoulder at the parfait cups he hasn't finished stocking. "I should get back to work--"

"You should get ready for your day," Jason says gently. "I can handle the kitchen from here. Don't worry about it."

"You're right," Sean agrees. "I should go. Thanks for being here--I appreciate it--"

"Any time," Jason says. He rubs his palms down the front of his apron and nods. "Any time you need an ear, I'll be around."


	14. Trial Run

Bill's up and dressed before Christian for a change; he's just in jeans and a t-shirt, still sprawled out in bed, but he's got a tablet out and he's running through some documents for work. He looks up when Christian comes out of the bathroom, and even if Christian can't see it, he knows exactly the look Bill's got on his face as he watches Christian gets dressed.

"I can _hear_ you grinning from back there," Christian says. Bill laughs, and Christian finishes getting his t-shirt on and turns around. "Can I ask you for a favor?"

Bill sobers up fast and sits up. "Absolutely. What do you need?"

It takes a minute before Christian can actually ask the question, even though he's been thinking about it all morning. "Do you mind if I ask Aidan to drive me in to work today?"

"Of course I don't mind. You can have him drive you in every day if that's what you want--" Bill stops, suddenly, eyebrows going up. "_Ah._"

Christian winces. "I'm pretty transparent about this, aren't I?"

"Hey, no, it's okay." Bill climbs out of bed and walks over to him, wrapping his arms around Christian's waist. "I get it."

"You probably do." Christian sighs. "If we're actually going to talk about owning someone, I might as well get used to the fact that we've already got a full staff here--and it's not just _your_ staff."

"They're not slaves, though," Bill says. "Big difference."

"Have to start somewhere." Christian gets his arms around Bill's shoulders and pulls him close. "Thank you."

"Anything you need," Bill murmurs. "Just say the word."

Christian closes his eyes and breathes deep; Bill smells so damn good. Comforting, clean, like soap and clean laundry this early in the morning. Like home. "I love you," he whispers.

"I love you, too," Bill whispers back, hugging Christian hard.

Eventually Christian does have to pull away; he gives Bill one more tight squeeze before he goes. "All right. I'll see you tonight."

"Just tell Aidan when you want him back. Or you can call him tonight, if you don't mind waiting."

Christian nods and steps to the closest media screen; he pages Aidan, who shows up on the screen moments later. "Good morning, Christian," Aidan says. "What can I do for you?"

"I'd like a ride to work this morning, if that's all right."

"Of course. Meet me at the garage?"

"Sure."

Aidan's image blinks out, and Bill reaches over to squeeze Christian's shoulder. "Not so hard," he says.

"I was always afraid of that," Christian murmurs. "One day it's not so hard; the next day you take everything for granted--"

"Or you don't," Bill counters. "And you let people know how much you appreciate them. Tell him 'thanks' when you get where you're going. It'll be fine."

"You always think everything's going to be fine," Christian mutters, and to his surprise, Bill laughs.

"You're probably right," Bill says. "But it's worked out pretty well for us so far."

Bill's right, of course; Aidan's as friendly to Christian as ever, and he doesn't seem troubled by Christian's first request for a solo trip somewhere. He doesn't talk for the first few blocks, but the silence gets to Christian. "How are you doing this morning?"

"Just fine," Aidan says. "It looks like it's going to be a beautiful day. How are you?"

_Nervous_, Christian thinks. "I'm all right," he says. "I'll need a ride back from work tonight, if you don't mind."

Aidan chuckles. "You don't have to ask me if I mind. It's my job."

"That doesn't mean you need to hate it--"

Aidan frowns into the rearview mirror. "Why the hell would I hate it? I love to drive, I work maybe an hour or two a day, and I have a great room and draw a decent paycheck. To tell you the truth, I feel like I'm not doing a hell of a lot to earn my keep most days. I _like_ driving you and Bill around."

Christian blinks. "Am I being an asshole if I say I never thought of it like that?"

Laughing again, Aidan shakes his head. "Not at all. It's nice of you to think about what makes the staff happy, but seriously, sir, you might as well let us work."

"All right. But _please_ don't call me 'sir'."

"Sorry about that--just habit. I'll try to cut it out."

Aidan's cheerful attitude has Christian grinning in spite of himself, and the rest of the ride in to work is pretty pleasant. "When do I pick you up?" Aidan asks as the valet opens Christian's door.

"Six, but I might be a little late. Do you mind waiting?"

"Not at all."

"Okay. Six, then."

"See you tonight."

"See you then," Christian says, and remembering Bill's advice from earlier, adds, "Thanks, Aidan."

Aidan beams at him. "You're welcome."

Christian steps out of the car, and Aidan drives off; Christian watches him go and takes a deep breath. _Not so hard._

He heads upstairs and lets himself into his suite; Sean's on the couch, and he stands up when he sees Christian. "Sir."

It's funny, Christian realizes--he doesn't want to hear 'sir' from the staff at home, but he doubts he's going to get tired of hearing Sean say it anytime soon. _I wonder if that'd change if we brought him home._ "Good morning," he says. "How are you today?"

Sean shifts position, puts his hands behind his back. "I'm all right, sir," he says, "but I'd like to talk about yesterday."

"Do you want to do that before or after coffee?"

Sean tilts his head slightly. "To be honest, sir, I've been up for hours," he admits. "But I'd be happy to ring up for coffee if you'd like some."

"I think coffee would be a good idea for a talk like this." _Service_, he thinks, despite himself. _Christ. No. Don't ask for that when you're supposed to be listening to him._ Sean nods and goes to the nearest media screen to order coffee; once that's done, Christian takes a seat in an armchair and Sean sits down on the couch, on the end nearest Christian.

Christian looks Sean in the eyes; Sean doesn't back down from that look, which is definitely a good sign. "Where would you like to start?"

Sean opens his mouth, then closes it and shakes his head. "I have no fucking idea, to be honest, sir."

"Did you like the lunch?"

It takes Sean a while to answer that one, too; Christian can see Sean's really going to be thinking his answers over, which is a good thing. "Yes, sir."

"How did you feel about the people you met?"

This one's easier, it seems. "I liked them, sir."

He was expecting that--it was incredibly obvious how much Sean liked Viggo, at the very least--but it still makes Christian want to wince. "Anyone in particular?"

"All of them." Sean leans forward and puts his elbows on his knees; he laces his fingers together and rests his chin on his hands. "Sir, I have to ask--you were close to me all afternoon. A hell of a lot closer than most trainers were to their slaves. Are you worried I can't handle this?"

This time Christian actually does wince. He shakes his head. "No. I've been watching you all week; I think at this point it's obvious you're not going anywhere."

"I'm not planning on it, sir."

"I'll let you off the leash--the metaphorical leash, that is--next Thursday. We'll work on some service before we get there; I don't want you feeling like you don't have the training to handle yourself if I'm not right there."

"Frankly, sir, the owners seem to take over fairly quickly. I don't think I'd feel at loose ends." He pauses, and when he continues, he's a little more quiet. "That's all it was, then?"

"I--" Christian hesitates, and Sean's eyes narrow. _Shit. He's quick._ And there's no time like the present to be honest. "Damn it. No, that's not all."

Sean doesn't make this any easier; he stays still, stays quiet, keeps looking at Christian until Christian's tempted to look away. Christian takes a deep breath. "I've worked with a lot of people," he murmurs, "but it's rare to have the kind of chemistry I have with you. Being possessive like I was yesterday isn't fair to you, if what you want is to meet someone and go home with them, but--" Christian leans forward, too, reaching out and leaving his palm up so Sean can take his hand if he wants; Sean does so, instantly. "I've never owned anyone. I don't _want_ to own people. But what I'm doing with you isn't just a job to me."

Christian looks down at their hands; Sean gives Christian's a firm squeeze. "I wondered," Sean says quietly. "I had trouble on Thursday, figuring out whether I was trying to please them or trying to please you, and I've thought about what it would be like if you didn't have to go home at night. Or if you had room in your house for me."

"I mentioned yesterday--I have a lover," Christian says. Sean nods. "We've been together for four years, and we both play rough, and--" Christian takes a breath and gets it out. "He'd like to meet you."

Sean blinks a few times; finally, Christian's managed to surprise him. "What--" He licks his lips again. "What's he like, sir?"

"He owned slaves before we started seeing each other. We're both pretty dominant, but he's a little more willing to give ground--" And Christian winces, realizing how that all sounds. _Like a goddamned business transaction. A résumé._ "He's forty-seven, likes hockey, works from home, easygoing. He has--_we_ have--a staff of six, but no slaves. His name's Bill. I think he'd like you."

Sean rubs at his forehead. "All right. So say he does like me--then what? You're a trainer here--are you allowed to pick up my contract?"

"Does it need to be a contract?"

Frowning, Sean looks up. "As opposed to what?"

"I--" Christian frowns, too; _hadn't got that far, had you?_ "I'm not sure. I don't want to own you--"

"At this stage, what are my options here, at Eclipse? Drop out of training or go up for auction?"

"I--yes. Traditionally, yes."

"And if I drop out of training, will they let me back in?"

Christian freezes; he can see where this is going. "No. If you leave, you're gone. Most of the people who walk away from training leave, and most of them are better off. But we don't let people come back once they've walked away."

"So if Bill and I don't get along, or things don't work out between the three of us, I'm right back where I started, only I don't have Eclipse to fall back on." Sean exhales sharply. "There are other slavebrokers..."

Christian's stomach turns over at the thought of Sean going to another one; he's too damned familiar with what goes on at most slavebrokers to like that idea. "No," he says. "No, you--I don't want that to happen to you."

"In which case--you'll understand if I tell you I'd rather be dealing with a contract. As you said earlier this week: at least if I don't get along with my owner, it isn't permanent."

"You're right." Christian groans and covers his face for a minute; there really isn't any way out of that. "Fuck. You're right."

He jumps, a little startled, when Sean reaches out and puts his hand on Christian's knee. "All right," Sean murmurs. "So my question from before--are you allowed to put an offer on me?"

"It never comes up. Trainers can't afford to buy slaves from Eclipse."

"Do any other trainers own slaves that aren't from Eclipse?"

"Yes."

"And your lover used to own slaves..."

"Bill could afford you," Christian says, and that makes his stomach flip over, too. _You're talking about buying and selling him. Like he's any other piece of flesh on the market. You're talking about buying and selling him to his face--just because you want him._ "I want you wherever's best for you," he says quietly. "Maybe that's with Viggo. Maybe it's with Bruce. I could promise you Bill and I would treat you with respect, but I don't know what would make us better than any other owners."

Sean squeezes Christian's knee gently. "I don't know him. I _do_ know you. You're good at this. You're good with me. But I'd need to know how much of it is standard training protocol and how much of it is training me at things _you_ want me to be able to do."

Christian catches Sean by the wrist and holds him. "If you were someone else," he says, "I'd be thinking about what Viggo likes from his slaves, what sort of things you'd be expected to do in his house. I'd think about anyone else who's shown an interest, too--Bruce, David, any of the people at lunch yesterday who seem serious about you."

"Fine. So do that," Sean says firmly. "And then think about what you want. What Bill wants. And don't leave that out."

_What I want._ Christian keeps hold of Sean's wrist and looks him in the eye; Sean doesn't back down. "Bill's going to be at the next Thursday lunch. Viggo wants to spend some time with you next week. You might get some other requests."

Sean nods. "All right. Do I see everyone who asks for time, or only some of them?"

"Only the ones I let through."

That gets a raised eyebrow out of Sean. "You didn't let a hell of a lot of people through on Thursday. Do you get a say in who actually buys me?"

"I can make recommendations, but no. It isn't up to me. Unless there are serious concerns about compatibility, you're going to the highest bidder."

Sean takes a deep breath and nods slowly. "All right."

There's one more question Christian needs to ask, much as he hates to bring it up. "Something else. Something you might not have thought about. You could ask for a different trainer. If you think I'm not going to be objective enough, if you think I'm not going to be teaching you what you need to know--"

"I don't want a different trainer," Sean says. Firmly--not as if he didn't need to think about it, but as if he wants Christian to know he's _sure_. "I want to see the people who have an interest in me. I want to go back to Thursday lunches and meet people. I want to meet Bill. But I want you training me." He winces, all of a sudden, and looks away. "God, I don't know if I'm supposed to say things like that. If what I'm supposed to be learning is that what I want doesn't matter--"

Christian rubs his thumb over the inside of Sean's wrist, and Sean closes his eyes, sitting up a little straighter. "You can _always_ talk to me. And I want you to be honest with me when you do. But a hell of a lot of owners are about obedience first and the slave's needs second, and you _will_ be dealing with some of that when you have visitors."

"I understand, sir," Sean says quietly. "I understood that when I came here."

"Everyone's different. Everyone's going to want different amounts of self-direction from you. If you're lucky, you'll end up with someone who wants to hear your thoughts and your feelings, someone who isn't afraid of honesty. And if not--it can always just be a contract. Nothing more than that. What you're learning to do is a job. It doesn't have to be a lifestyle."

Sean meets Christian's eyes again; he's got an eyebrow raised, but he doesn't ask whatever question's at the top of his thoughts. "All right, sir."

"All right," Christian agrees, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. "Anything else you want to talk about?"

"No, sir. Not right now."

"Then we've got more training to do."

* * *

If Christian thought Sean was eager before, it's nothing compared to what he's like now. He's obedient and he learns fast--it's rare Christian has to repeat an instruction or give him more than a few physical cues about what he's after. Sean's reading Christian as well as Christian's reading him, and Christian has to wonder how well that's going to translate to a brand-new owner.

The things he starts out with are all wrapped around Viggo: Viggo's got an interest in heavy pain play--nipple torture, for instance--so they spend most of Friday working over Sean's nipples. Sean takes to it like he's taken to everything here, like he's been looking for it all his life, and even though Christian knows his nipples must be aching by the time they're through for the day--they're red, swollen, and even getting his shirt on makes Sean grimace with pain--not only is he not complaining, he looks remarkably smug about it, entirely pleased with himself.

Christian backs Sean into the wall before he leaves for the weekend, flattening Sean and pinning Sean's hands over his head. He rubs up, partly to press his thigh against Sean's cock--Sean's come twice today, and while he's not hard yet, his cock's not hurting, either--but partly to rub up against Sean's chest, and that makes Sean shut his eyes and growl under his breath with pain.

"Tell me it hurts," Christian murmurs.

"_Fuck_, sir, it hurts," Sean pants. Christian drives his thigh into Sean's crotch, harder this time; it doesn't get much of a reaction out of Sean, of course, since Sean's cock isn't what's hurting. Not yet, anyway. Not this time.

"Tell me how much it hurts," Christian says, leaning in close and licking around the curve of Sean's ear.

"Hurts like fire, sir, like--Christ, like _weight_, like they've still got the weights on them--"

Christian shudders; he almost can't help himself. "You sound so fucking good when you're hurting," he whispers, and it could be for Viggo, it _could_ be, it's the kind of thing Viggo would say.

It's not, though, and he rubs his thumb over the side of Sean's wrist, growling softly, squirming hard against Sean's body. "Are you going to behave for me this weekend?"

"Yes, sir, I'll behave for you--sir, please, please--"

"Going to be a good boy for me?"

"Oh, Christ, yes, sir, anything you _want_, sir--"

"Anything _I_ want." Christian pauses, cheek pressed up against Sean's, panting hard. There it is, of course, and it's going to be there for the next three weeks. Anything he wants. Anything _Christian_ wants.

He pulls back and looks Sean carefully in the eyes, making sure Sean's focusing on him and not just zoning out from pain and pleasure. "Are you with me?"

It takes Sean a few more breaths, but he nods. "Yes, sir, I'm with you."

"I want you to take care of yourself. Don't play with your nipples, and don't let anyone else play with them, either, until they're healed up."

Sean frowns with disappointment, but Christian's stern look gets that disappointed expression off Sean's face in a hurry. "No, sir, I won't."

"I want you to call up for a massage at least once this weekend. Once a day if you want."

"Yes, sir."

"And I want you lubed up and wearing a plug when I get here on Monday morning."

Sean's eyes go wide at that last. "Yes, sir. Which plug?"

"Something just a little too big to be comfortable. Your call."

"Yes, sir." Sean grins at him. "Lubed and plugged, sir."

"We haven't talked about off-duty sex, really." Christian pushes away even further, though he keeps his grip on Sean's wrists. "I don't mind if you do it. I don't want you sore when I get back, though, and I want you clean on Monday morning."

Sean nods, but he's frowning again. "I don't really--who would I even have a chance to...?"

"If you're out and around the grounds, you might run into a trainer looking for a third body for a scene. You can make friends here; you're not obligated to fuck _anyone_ on the staff, ever, but if you happen to find someone you're attracted to, you're not obligated to remain celibate, either."

"Yes, sir." Sean raises an eyebrow. "Is there anyone in particular you'd like me to fuck?"

_Bill_, Christian thinks, but he shakes his head. "Not until next week. I just want you to be happy and take care of yourself. I'll be back Monday, and we'll keep working on some of the things Viggo's going to expect out of you."

"If it's Viggo," Sean murmurs.

"If it is," Christian murmurs back.

He gets close again, pushes up tight against Sean's chest, and kisses him. This time it's long and hard and deep, and it's got nothing to do with Viggo. Nothing to do with training, either. He pushes in and takes the lead, and Sean opens up and follows him. Calling what they've got together chemistry isn't doing it justice; Sean's open and hot and eager, and Christian wants to dive right in and take advantage of every last inch of him.

He backs away--he's got to get downstairs; Aidan's waiting--but he's sure his eyes are as bright as Sean's when he does. "Have a good weekend," he murmurs.

"You, too, sir."


	15. Cards On The Table

Bill believes in being up-front, honest, and fair; it's what's kept his relationship with Christian going strong for four years. Inviting Viggo over would probably freak Christian out some, but Bill figures it's the right thing to do--and it's not like he needs to ask permission.

"It's been a while," Viggo says, once Bill opens the door and lets him in; he pulls Bill into a bear hug and gives him a hard slap on the back. "How've you been?"

"Pretty damn good, to tell you the truth," Bill says. He grins, and because he can't help himself--and really, what's the point in playing it cool?--he looks Viggo up and down. "You look great. Things been going well for you lately?"

"Yeah. Yeah, they have." Viggo follows Bill inside and lets Bill lead him off to the living room; it's not like he's never been here before, but old patterns die hard. Bill leads; Viggo follows--it's how things worked for a good long time. "Oh, damn, you've got a whole new media system installed." He eyes the media screen and makes a show out of sweeping his head from side to side to take the whole thing in. "And me with the one computer back home."

"Luddite," Bill says, walking over to Viggo and elbowing him in the ribs. "Amy's got some food going. Guacamole and those black bean burritos you like. If there's anything else you want, feel free to head for the kitchen and ask about it."

"Do I know Amy? She's your cook, right?"

"Yeah--no, I don't think you've met her. I had to hire her after I let Jason go."

"Ahh." Viggo nods. "I'll say hi later, maybe. Let me tell you, after Jason, the idea of hiring a cook is pretty fucking tempting..."

Bill laughs. "Don't tell me the food's what you miss about Jason."

"Not the only thing." Viggo grins. "Not for you, either, huh?"

It'd be a great lead-in to the conversation Bill invited Viggo here to have, but he shakes his head and lets it go, turning on the media screen and switching to the hockey feed. He and Viggo take a seat on the couch, and they cheer for the Maple Leafs together, and halfway through, they end up gorging themselves on Amy's fantastic guacamole and burritos.

"That's it," Viggo says, polishing off his third burrito. "I'm moving in with you guys."

Bill snorts. "Funny, I thought you were looking to get someone to move in with you, not the other way around..."

"This kind of guacamole would be worth switching down for, believe me."

"And me and Christian--" Bill raises an eyebrow.

"I could probably put up with you guys, too."

Bill chuckles, but he shakes his head, too; he's really got to get down to the heart of things. "Actually, there was something I wanted to talk to you about..."

"Uh-oh. Those are never good words. Tell me anyway."

"It's nothing awful, trust me, just--Christian mentioned you were at lunch on Thursday."

"Did he? I'm sure he's told you about the guy he's training."

Bill nods. "Sean."

Viggo nods, too, looking off to the side. He rubs his hands together and leans forward, looking back to Bill. "Beautiful boy. Lots of potential. It's hard to believe he hasn't been at it for years. I can't remember the last time I ran into someone who wanted to be good that badly." He grins, one corner of his mouth going up into a smirk. "Well, maybe me, back in the day. But that was a long time ago."

"You weren't a slave," Bill points out.

"Neither is Sean--not yet, anyway. You know he's a thrill-seeker, right?"

"I know he's not acting like one."

"He isn't, no." Viggo shakes his head. "But I'm not one to look a gift horse in the mouth. He's got incredible instincts, he's hot as hell, and he hits all my dominant buttons. I'm definitely going to make an offer for him at the end of the month."

"Yeah, I'd heard that." Bill sits back and sighs. "Did you notice the way Christian was pretty much all over him?"

"Everybody noticed that. I figured he was just doing some routine hand-holding."

Bill shakes his head. "This isn't routine. Christian likes the guy. From what I'm hearing, he likes him quite a bit."

"And you're telling me this because..."

"Well, I haven't met the guy yet myself, but after I do, if I like him as much as Christian does--"

The pieces snap together for Viggo; Bill can practically hear the click. "You're going to bid on him."

"I figured it was only fair to let you know there was going to be some competition."

"There's going to be more than just the two of us. Bruce Greenwood had him working for a while there, and David and Karl looked like they were trying to invent brand-new perverted things to do with him. I was tempted to ask, see if I could steal an idea or two, but Christian wasn't even letting them breathe on him."

"Christian was being a little overprotective. I'm not so sure Sean wouldn't go for a month or two with David."

"Right now I get the impression Sean would go for a month or two with anybody. I'd kind of like to get in there before someone tries to break him."

Bill smiles. "That's sweet," he murmurs, and Viggo looks away. "But seriously, now. Would you worry about how someone was going to turn out if you knew Christian and I were taking care of him?"

Viggo shakes his head. "I trust you," he murmurs. "You know that."

"I trust you, too," Bill says gently. "But if Christian really wants him--and if he and I get along--I'm not going to back off just because you had him first. Are we going to be okay if that happens?"

"Are _we_\--" Viggo frowns. "Us? You mean--is it going to hurt our friendship if we're bidding on the same guy?" His frown goes a little deeper, and he comes off the couch, walking over to Bill, who stands up and meets him halfway. "Come on. You know me better than that."

Bill reaches out and hugs Viggo--hard--and nods as they pull back. "Just wanted to be sure," he says. "Wanted to make sure my ass was covered. And that you didn't get blindsided seeing me there on Thursday."

Viggo's eyes go a little wide. "Hell, I hadn't thought about that. You're right, though; if you're thinking about bidding on him, you should be there. I appreciate the warning, though." He whistles. "You and Christian _both_. You know, I was kidding about switching down earlier, but..."

Bill snorts. "There we go. You switch down, David and Karl pick up Sean, and everyone goes home happy."

"Except maybe Christian," Viggo points out. "If he likes Sean that much..."

"Bet he wouldn't turn you down if you offered to roll over. But you're probably right. I shouldn't joke," Bill says, sighing. "He takes everything really fucking seriously. And I get that, I understand why, but... sometimes I think he loses track of the fact that people can actually get something out of slavery."

"Well, let's hope he shakes the guilt complex if he actually decides to have you bid on Sean," Viggo says. "No matter how much he likes the guy, if he brings him home and dumps guilt on his head, it's not going to do anybody any good."

He's right, of course, and Bill winces just thinking about it. "Point taken," he says. "I'll talk to him. We'll work through that. Anyway--" He glances at his watch and touches a button, which flashes an ETA, how long it's going to take Aidan's car to get back, considering traffic. "He ought to be home in about twenty minutes. You want to stay for dinner? You'd be welcome."

Viggo actually laughs at that. "I'd be welcome as long as your lover didn't try to rip my head off. No, I think it's better if Christian and I keep things on a professional basis, at least for now. If you manage to outbid me at the end of the month, ask me again. I'd be happy to visit the three of you."

"You make it sound like you're not expecting to win."

"I didn't say I was going to make it easy." Viggo grins. "We'll see what happens on Thursday, huh? If nothing else, it'll be fun seeing you in action again."

"Flattery will get you everywhere," Bill says. Viggo stands up, and Bill leads him back out to the door. "Take care of yourself, man."

"You, too." Viggo hugs Bill again, this time planting a solid kiss just under Bill's left ear; Bill's whole body shivers, head-to-foot. Viggo's smirking when he pulls back. "Thought that spot might still be there," he says. "I'll see you Thursday."

_Playing dirty these days_, Bill thinks, grinning as Viggo drives away. Thursday's going to be fun.


	16. Another Outlet

It's pretty late by the time Sean manages to get in touch with Jason, but Jason turns up at Sean's door as soon as he's done with work for the evening. He's out of his kitchen whites, into a t-shirt and jeans, and he's got flour in his hair--not just flour, either, some kind of pastry filling. Sean raises his eyebrows.

"Don't ask," Jason says, holding up both hands.

"Bugger that. What happened?"

Jason mock-glares at Sean. "Not the obedient type today, then?"

"Get toppy with me and we'll see." Sean reaches out and prods at the pastry filling in Jason's hair; a bit of it breaks off, and Sean brings his fingers back and sniffs them. "Lemon?"

"Some _idiot_ dropped a fucking duck on a pastry tube. It looked like we'd set Brock Longfellow loose and shoved a vibrating plug up his ass."

Sean laughs. "Well, I appreciate you coming by despite that, but if you want a shower--"

"Figured I'd steal yours." Jason grins, ear-to-ear. "I know what the showers are like in these suites. They're a lot better than mine."

"Make yourself at home," Sean says, holding the door open for Jason. "You know where the towels are?"

"Pretty sure I can find them, thanks."

"Do you need spare clothes or anything?"

"Nah. This was in my locker in the walk-in; it escaped the wrath of Brock Lemonfellow."

Laughing all over again, Sean takes a seat in the seating area as Jason disappears off to the bathroom. Jason isn't gone for all that long, and he comes back looking clean, a little tired, but overall happy. He plops himself down on the armchair and sprawls, legs falling apart, arms over the armrests. "_Ahhh._"

"Enjoy the shower, did you?" Sean asks, grinning.

"Yes, I did, thank you," Jason says primly. "So how was _your_ day?"

"Pretty fucking good," Sean says. He leans back on the couch and puts his feet up on the coffee table. "I had a chance to talk to Christian about things, and I wasn't imagining it. He's interested in me."

"Is there a next step?"

"Next step is he keeps training me, based on things I might have to do with the people who plan to bid on me. I'm not going off the market."

"Probably smart of you," Jason admits. "And if it means anything, Viggo's a good man. I was never mistreated in his house, not even close. He was good to me."

"I don't suppose you know anything about Christian's lover."

Jason's expression freezes, and he looks carefully at Sean as he sits up a little straighter. "Christian's lover is the man who owned me before Viggo did," he says. "And he's a good friend. One of my best friends. What do you want to know?"

"I'm going to meet him next Thursday. If he likes me as much as Christian does, they might put a bid on me together."

Jason nods. "Bill would do that," he murmurs. "Can't help being a little surprised about Christian, though."

"He says he's never owned anyone. Or wanted to."

"That's what I thought. But he's serious about wanting Bill to meet you?"

"From what I gather."

Jason's still nodding, and he rubs a hand over his face as he does. "You could do a lot worse. For your first time out of the gate, you could do a hell of a lot worse."

"Thanks," Sean murmurs. "Christian did ask if it needed to be a contract, but if things don't work out--if we go two months and things fall apart--"

"You don't want to be up a creek without a paddle," Jason says. "It makes sense. But I know where he's coming from, too. Slavery makes everything complicated."

"It's funny. I never thought it would. Coming here felt like the least complicated decision I'd made in years." Sean sighs. "It doesn't feel that way anymore."

"Better now than later," Jason says. "You've still got three weeks to get used to the idea."

"There is that. And apparently I'll be seeing some of the owners who want to put bids on me. Privately, I mean. With Christian's supervision."

Jason nods. "That's pretty normal. Do you have any assignments over the weekend?"

"Just to take things easy. I'm supposed to get a massage at least once, and we did some work on my--he did some nipple torture today," Sean says--it's getting easier to be matter-of-fact about sex, and Jason's raised eyebrows look more like a sign of curiosity than a sign that Sean should shut up about it. "So I'm supposed to let my nipples heal rather than playing with them, or letting anyone else play with them."

"Hmm." Jason sits up, coming all the way up out of his slouch to take a closer look at Sean. "He gave you permission to play this weekend, didn't he?"

"Christ, I'm that obvious, aren't I?" Sean groans. "No, I was going to get to that, but I didn't invite you here to--well, not just to--damn it--"

"Relax," Jason says, chuckling. "I'm flattered. And I'd have to be dead not to be at least a little interested. But not this weekend. Too soon for me--we just met, and now that I'm not under contract to anyone, I'd rather get to know people before I fall into bed with them. Fair enough?"

"More than," Sean says. "God, I'm sorry--I wasn't even thinking, I just wanted you to know first." Not that he knows anyone else here to tell, really; not that he's gone out of his rooms much other than seeing Jason. Still, Jason was the first person who came to mind when Christian gave Sean explicit permission to fool around with other people. _And now we both know where we stand. That's good._

"I can introduce you to some other staff members, if you'd like," Jason says. "And I'd be happy to spend the weekend hanging out with you." He grins. "Especially if there are going to be massages--I know a few guys who are in training for that right now, if you'd like to double up."

"Sounds great. To tell the truth, I could use a tour guide around here; I'm never sure what's off-limits, what I'm supposed to do..."

"New guy in town. We were all there at one point or another. I'll show you around--starting tomorrow morning, if you want. I'd offer to start tonight, but I don't think anyone else is going to be up at this hour."

Sean nods. "Fair enough. Actually, if you want to get some sleep, let me know--"

"Oh, God, I'll be buzzed from work for a few hours. You want to dig up the controllers for the gaming system on your media screen? I can teach you how to play Kinetix, if you aren't an addict already."

"Never heard of it," Sean says, grinning. "But I'd be happy to learn."


	17. If You Were Really Mine

The weekend's good. Relaxing. Sean spends more than a little time with Jason, including getting that massage, finding out that slaves can use the spa and workout rooms any time they want, and meeting half the "slaves-in-waiting"--people who have been through training but haven't been sold yet. It's a little intimidating to realize he's the oldest of them--but the fact that at least two people are interested in making offers on him, and he knows it, ameliorates that somewhat.

Keeping busy over the weekend isn't difficult, but on Monday morning Sean still finds himself waking up early, counting down the minutes until Christian's supposed to arrive. He takes a long, hot shower and picks out a large green plug--_something just a little too big to be comfortable_, Christian had said--and after getting himself fully-lubed, Sean kneels on a couple of towels in the bathroom, right in front of the mirror, and starts working the plug in.

He's concentrating so hard on it that he doesn't notice the noises from the outer rooms: a door opening, closing; a drawer opening; a small jingle of metal. He finally seats the damn thing, and when he looks past his own reflection in the mirror, Christian's standing in the doorway watching him. Sean's head snaps around, and he looks up; Christian's early.

"Good morning," Christian says, smirking. He's got his arms crossed over his chest, and he looks Sean up and down, head to foot. "I see you're taking care of your orders."

"I--yes, sir," Sean says, trying not to blurt out _you're early_. An owner's not late, not early--he's always right on time. He's pretty sure he remembers that quote from somewhere. "Welcome back."

"Good to be back," Christian says. He comes over to Sean and goes to one knee in front of him, and Sean realizes he's holding something. It's the collar he's been putting on Sean from time to time, and he gestures for Sean to turn around so he can buckle it on again.

Sean turns, facing the mirror as Christian gets the collar in place. It fits perfectly, as always, and looking at his reflection--naked, collared, and even though he can't see it, he can sure as hell feel the plug--makes him start blushing. Christian leans in, presses his chest against Sean's back, and wraps an arm around Sean's waist. "Did you have a good weekend?"

"Yes, sir," Sean whispers. "How was--how was yours...?"

"Fine." Christian pulls away and plants a hand in the center of Sean's back, pushing him--not too gently--down to all fours. He guides Sean into position--back straight, arms straight, knees spread apart slightly--and then reaches up, sliding his fingers into Sean's hair and pulling his head back as far as the collar allows. It's far enough Sean can see himself in the mirror, with Christian behind him.

Christian's shadowed just a little, and his eyes are narrowed and dark. He reaches behind Sean with his free hand and presses down hard on the plug; Sean groans. "You were so distracted getting this into you that you didn't even notice I was watching," he murmurs.

"I'm sorry, sir--"

"Don't be. It was hot. I liked how intent you were on following orders." He eases up on the plug for a minute, then tilts his head slightly. "Unless it was the plug itself that was getting you off so much." This time when he rocks the plug in, his fingers move down, brushing against Sean's balls. Sean gasps, hands curling into fists. "What was it?"

Sean whimpers; Christian wants him to talk _now_? God. "I--_you_\--orders, sir," he pants, flattening his hands out again; he's not going to be able to hold himself up for long with his hands clenched. "Sir, please, _please_\--"

"You're so fucking easy," Christian growls, easing up on the plug again. "You don't need much, do you? You just need someone to tell you what to do." He runs his hand over Sean's ass, and Sean tries pushing back against that touch before Christian's grip stops him. "That's what gets you off hardest. Having somebody else take over."

He'd nod if he could, but he's still caught in Christian's grip, and instead all he can do is look back at Christian, try to meet Christian's eyes, try to say _yes_ without actually forcing the word out. Christian smirks at him again--God, he's in such a good mood this morning; Sean doesn't know why, but he's glad as hell for it--and rests his hand against Sean's ass, warm and promising.

"I want to hurt you," Christian murmurs. "I want to strap you until you're red all over, and then fuck you until you scream for me."

"_Ahhh_\--God, yes--yes, sir, _please_\--"

"But not today," Christian says, finally letting go of Sean's hair. Sean's head drops down, and he looks down at the floor, breathing hard. "Next week I'm going to bruise you. This week I'm going to keep you clean for Viggo."

_Viggo._ Sean had, for a moment, actually forgotten anyone else existed. He shakes his head, trying to clear it, and Christian runs a hand up his back. "What?" Christian murmurs.

"No, I--Christ, sir, I'd forgotten about Viggo."

Christian growls at that, low and dark, and he grabs Sean by the collar and muscles him over onto his back. Sean goes with it, eager, easy, and when Christian pushes his hands up above his head, Sean locks his fingers together and stretches himself into a straight line. Christian crawls up Sean's body--no, _crawl_'s the wrong word, he _prowls_ up Sean's body, fully clothed, still in everything from his boots to his leather jacket, and he stops at Sean's chest, straddling him.

"Last Thursday I had to tell them I wasn't training your mouth," Christian says. Sean's eyes go wide, and he licks his lips, almost subconsciously. "This week you're going to spend a whole goddamned lot of time with your mouth anywhere I fucking want it."

"_Yes_," Sean says--he doesn't stick his tongue out of his mouth, doesn't try to bend himself up in spite of the collar. _Be good, be good, he's promising to let you taste him..._

Christian reaches down and slips a finger into the O-ring on the front of Sean's collar, pulling him forward just a little. "I like how you can make 'yes' sound like begging," he murmurs. "Does that sound good to you? Me using your mouth all week long?"

"Yes," Sean groans; if the first 'yes' sounded like begging, he hopes this one does, too.

"Get your mouth open. Put your tongue out."

Sean does, mouth opening wide, tongue resting over his lower lip. Christian lets Sean's collar go and leans over him, rubbing the front of his jeans up against Sean's mouth. Sean moans out loud; the scrape of denim over Christian's hard-on is one of the most arousing things he's felt since he got here, and Christian smells incredible--some kind of dark, woodsy soap, clean laundry, and just enough leather from his jacket and his belt to make it all that much more complex. Sean can't resist licking at the outline of Christian's cock, but he stops when Christian pulls away.

"You're such an eager boy. You want to be used so goddamned badly, don't you?" Christian slides his legs together, pinning Sean in tighter, and he reaches down and unbuckles his belt, pops the button on his fly open and unzips it. He's not wearing anything under his jeans, and Sean's eyes go even wider. "Is this what you want?" Christian murmurs, running his hand down the length of his cock. "This?"

"Oh--God--_yes_, sir, _yes_, yes, God, please, _yes_, please, please, fuck, yes, please let me, please--" Sean licks his lips and tries to lift his head up; he keeps his hands laced together and his arms on the floor, despite wanting, badly, to reach out and touch Christian.

"Good enough," Christian says, and he angles his cock down to Sean's mouth, and finally, _finally_, Sean gets to swallow him down and taste him. He squirms underneath Christian, trying to angle his head up and get more; Christian reaches down and cups the back of Sean's head in his hand, tugging his head up as he pushes his cock in deeper. Sean tries to moan--not much of the sound escapes around Christian's cock--and when Christian gets his other hand on Sean's O-ring, Sean simply stops trying to get more and lets Christian take from him.

He can't see much, but he can feel everything. Christian's fingers, solid and strong, moving Sean's head where he wants it. The tough, unyielding press of leather on his throat. Christian's thighs warm and tight on either side of Sean's chest. That damned green plug, rigid inside him, reminding him that he's still open and ready to be fucked. The scent and taste of Christian's cock, hot and overwhelming. For all he's supposed to think of this as a job, for all he's been told it's not about fulfilling his fantasies, this _is_ his fantasy, lying here with Christian holding him and using him, and he moans when Christian lets him up for a breath, panting to get the air in.

"Come on, boy," Christian growls. "You can take more than this. I _watched_ you taking more than this. You can give it all up to strangers, but not to me?"

_Give what up?_ Sean thinks, but he shakes his head as best he can, as much as Christian will let him. "Sir, _please_," he says, voice hoarse, "please, let me--let me--" He tries to tilt his head up, but can't--Christian doesn't let him. "Sir, please, let me give you--"

"What?" And Christian smirks, again, and Sean realizes how much he's enjoying this, too. How much he's enjoying _Sean_. How much Christian must be loving Sean's need and desperation.

Sean struggles harder, pushes against Christian's grip. He slides his tongue forward, trying to lick at Christian's cock again, but again, Christian stops him. "Sir, please, _please_\--let me suck you, let me give you--let me give you my mouth, _yours_, sir, just--yours, please, please, let me--"

Christian takes his hand off Sean's O-ring and presses his cock down again, gets it into Sean's mouth, and Sean groans, straining up, trying to get as much as Christian can give him. Christian groans, too, finally stretching out above Sean, his hands coming down to the floor so he can brace himself and just fuck Sean's throat, _hard_, and Sean plants his feet and rocks his hips up in rhythm with Christian's thrusts.

"_Fuck_," Christian pants, and he goes in that much deeper--Sean chokes, but he's pushing himself up as hard as he can despite that. His whole world's blotting out, everything gone except the need to be here, the need to _serve_, and Christian's grabbing hold of that need with both hands and taking Sean for everything he's got.

He pushes in--a little further, and then a little further still--and then he gasps, body tensing, and he comes with a broken, hoarse growl over Sean's head. Sean chokes again--_damn it_\--but he swallows as soon as he's done choking, trying to take in every drop he can, trying to memorize the way Christian tastes and feels right now.

When he's finished, Christian crawls back down Sean's body and puts his hands to either side of Sean's face, bending down and kissing him. The kiss is almost gentle, almost sweet, and when he's finished licking his way out of Sean's mouth, he rests his forehead against Sean's and stays still, breathing hard.

"You want--" he murmurs, and Sean squirms underneath him. _You're goddamned right, I want..._ "You want to be so damned good," Christian finishes, nuzzling Sean's head to the side, rubbing his cheek against Sean's. "Such a good fucking boy."

Sean laughs, and even laughing hurts; his throat's going to be sore for the rest of the day. "I'm trying, sir," he whispers. And in spite of the ache in his cock and the heavy pressure of the plug in his ass, that's all he says; it's all he needs to say.


	18. It Could Be This Way

Viggo's appointment with Sean is for two in the afternoon on Tuesday. Christian doesn't tell Sean right away. Monday, Sean proves his mouth doesn't really need much training at all--he's eager and hungry and, even if he's not deepthroating like a pro just yet, he fights down his gag reflex like he's determined to get it right and get it right _soon_. Some owners are sticklers about that sort of thing, but right now Christian's got no complaints. Christian's looking forward to getting Sean's mouth on other places--his boots, most notably--but they've got plenty of time for that.

Tuesday morning's an easy one. Christian takes Sean to the spa for a training session in massage techniques; not only does Sean take to it very nicely, but Christian gets a full-body massage out of the deal. He's feeling rested when lunch rolls around, and as they sit down in the restaurant, Christian says, "You've got an appointment with Viggo today."

Sean nearly chokes on his water; he puts it down, carefully, and nods at Christian. "Yes, sir," he says. "Is there anything he'd like me to do, in particular?"

"We'll know when he gets here."

"May I ask when that's going to be?"

"Two hours."

Still nodding, Sean sits back in his seat. "Yes, sir," he murmurs again. He glances around the room; Christian notices his eyes lingering on the table where Viggo fucked him last week. Christian's stomach does a little pitch-and-roll move, and he's not completely sure what it is. Not jealousy, not exactly. Not uneasiness. If he didn't know better, if he hadn't been at this for so many years, he might think it was nervousness--but that makes no sense whatsoever. He _knows_ Viggo. Above everything else, he trusts Viggo to treat Sean with respect.

After lunch, Christian takes Sean back to the suite and pulls him into the shower. Sean takes the soap and a washcloth and washes Christian's back without needing to be asked, which gets Christian thinking about Bill again. He hums out a pleased sound as Sean scrubs the small of his back.

"That's nice," he murmurs. "I'd like you to do more of this sort of thing."

"What's that, sir?"

Christian turns around. "Keep going," he says; Sean runs the washcloth up Christian's chest. "Service. Valet-style service. This is something we'll work on when Bill's here."

Sean blinks up at Christian. "Oh," he murmurs. "To be honest, sir, I don't know exactly what I'm doing..."

"You're doing fine," Christian says. "When you're in the shower with your owner, start at the top and work down. If there's enough room--like there is here--go all the way down to your knees. And be thorough. Make sure you've got the soap nearby so you can lather up again if you need to."

Sean nods at all of that and slides the washcloth down Christian's chest. He goes to his knees and washes Christian's legs, and he's thorough about Christian's legs and feet, but he hesitates when all that's left is Christian's cock, half-hard and, with Sean kneeling, right at mouth level.

"How would you like me to take care of this, sir?" Sean says, just barely loud enough to be heard over the spray.

Christian can't help smirking down at him. "How would you like to take care of it?"

The answer's obvious before Christian's even finished with the question, but Sean takes the question seriously. "I'd do anything you wanted, sir," he says. "I'd like to suck you. I'd be glad to touch you."

"Wash me," Christian tells him. "With your hands. And be gentle."

"Yes, sir." Sean lathers up his hands and covers Christian's cock with soap and warmth, and Christian falters, just a little, reaching out to the shower wall for support. Sean looks so intent about what he's doing, so _serious_, and that expression combined with the way he looks right now, wet and kneeling... those things alone would be enough to make Christian want him. The fact that he's got both hands on Christian's cock and he's stroking, twisting, coming this close to making it a handjob...

"If Viggo weren't going to be here soon, I'd be getting you up on your feet so I could fuck you against the wall," Christian growls down at Sean. Sean looks up, eyes wide and bright, expression eager all over again, and Christian shakes his head. "Come up anyway. And be glad; tile is _cold_."

"I don't think I'd mind, sir," Sean says, but he does come to his feet, rinsing his hands off under the spray.

"You might not mind the tile, but Viggo would definitely be put out if you're sore before he even touches you."

"No, sir, I understand that. I only meant..." Sean shakes his head. "I'm sorry for being pushy, sir."

Christian frowns as he shuts the spray off. "Don't apologize for being pushy until someone tells you you've been pushy. Sometimes you'll get the accusation even when you haven't been any such thing, but it's never a good thing to make an owner think badly of you when he wasn't thinking that way to begin with. And it can come across as insincere."

"I didn't mean--fuck," Sean says quietly. "I'm sorry, sir."

"I know." Christian steps out of the shower alcove to grab towels for both of them; he tosses one to Sean and starts drying off with the other. "There are owners who want you to be sorry for everything, whether you did it or not, but frankly..." He pauses, rubbing at the back of his neck. "Maybe it was different for me," he murmurs. "I was never the apologetic type, and it worked out fine for me. But I was topping my owners half the time, and I think submissive owners expect a little less deference from their slaves."

"I'm still trying to get used to the idea of submissive owners," Sean says, toweling off his hair. "I just hadn't run into any, myself..."

"You've run into one," Christian says without thinking, and then he hides his grimace in his towel. _Bringing that up? Now you're just playing dirty._

"Have I? Who?"

Christ, and now of course Sean's going to be curious. Christian keeps rubbing his face with his towel, trying to figure out how to get out of this. _Be honest; you don't have to be specific about it._ "One of the owners you met on Thursday," he says, finishing with the towel and putting it away.

"Which one?"

_Fuck._ Christian runs a comb through his hair, stalling, but then there's an alert sound from the media screen, and Christian says a silent word of thanks for the timing. He presses a button on the side of the screen--the one here in the bathroom's half-size--and the screen comes up with the receptionist on the ground floor.

"Hello, Christian. Mr. Mortensen's here to see you and Sean."

"We're ready. Send him on up."

"Will do."

Christian turns the screen off and looks at Sean. "Don't get dressed," he says. "Just finish getting dry, and meet me out in the other room when you're done."

"Yes, sir." Sean's already hurrying, rubbing the towel over the rest of his body, and Christian heads out to the other room for his clothes. He gets into everything, including belt and boots, and after a moment's pause, shrugs back into the leather jacket, too.

He stops at the dresser to pick up Sean's collar, a full set of cuffs, and a leash, and he sets those out on the coffee table in the outer room. He doesn't bother sitting down, though--no point, with Viggo arriving any minute--and as Sean comes out of the bathroom, Christian's pacing.

Sean walks over and slides into a kneel next to the armchair Christian usually takes. He spreads his legs just enough to let his cock drop down between his thighs--not hard right now; interesting--and laces his fingers behind his back. Christian steps over to him and slides his fingers into Sean's hair, damp and finger-combed, and he pulls Sean's face forward and presses it against his thigh. "Going to be good for Viggo?" Christian murmurs.

"Yes, sir!"

"What about me, boy? You want to make me proud of you?"

Sean groans; Christian looks down at him. _Now_ he's getting hard. "Yes, sir," Sean whispers, and Christian feels Sean's tongue come out and drag against denim.

"Stop that." Christian gives Sean's head a rough shake. "You're going to get more than enough chance to use that mouth of yours; don't jump the gun."

Nodding, Sean settles down, resting his forehead against Christian's thigh and breathing hot and fast. They get a few seconds like that, and then there's a knock on the door.

Christian pulls Sean away from him and heads to the door; when he opens it, Viggo looks him over head-to-foot and puts his lips together as if to whistle. He doesn't make a sound, though, and Christian grins at him in response. "You look good today, too, you know," he says, reaching out to pull Viggo into a hug. "How are you?"

"Not bad. Looking forward to seeing your boy again."

Christian's chest tightens up when he hears that, but he steps aside anyway and beckons Viggo into the suite. "He's right here. Come on in."

Sean only has eyes for Viggo as soon as Viggo walks inside, and Viggo comes forward immediately and drops to one knee in front of him. "You look good," he says. "Just get out of a shower?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, I'm sure I can think of ways to get you dirty again." Viggo reaches out and cups Sean's cheek in his hand; he rubs his thumb over Sean's lips. Sean closes his eyes and opens his mouth, and as Viggo slides his thumb over Sean's lower lip, Christian takes a seat on the couch so he can stay out of the way and watch them together.

Viggo's different with Sean than he was at last week's lunch; he runs his fingertips over Sean's face, slides his hands over Sean's body. Sean closes his eyes and shifts his weight, not quite squirming under Viggo's touch, but clearly not having an easy time keeping still, either. Viggo doesn't say anything about that--he's intent on touching every inch of Sean, gliding his hands over every curve, every plane of muscle, and as he reaches down to Sean's legs, Sean groans out loud and parts his thighs a little further.

"Oh, yeah, I'm gonna get you into bed," Viggo says, grinning at Sean. "But Christian was nice enough to leave these out for me--might as well take advantage." He reaches over to the coffee table and picks out a wrist cuff. "Hold your wrists out, please."

Sean opens his eyes and brings his hands out around in front of him, offering them to Viggo palms-up. Viggo buckles the first cuff on and checks the fit carefully, making sure it doesn't slide around too much but isn't too tight, either. "How's that?"

"Perfect, sir. Thank you."

Viggo glances over at Christian. "Nice manners," he says. "Is that trained or instinctive?"

"Instinct, mostly," Christian says. "We haven't done a lot of work with language yet."

"Oh, I'd love to get some language work in, then." Viggo picks up an ankle cuff and nods at Sean. "Ankles, too. C'mon."

When the ankle cuffs are on, Viggo holds a hand out to Sean and helps pull Sean to his feet. He reaches down to the coffee table and picks up the collar, and he walks around behind Sean so he can buckle it on. Sean's hard, and seeing him clean and naked with a full set of cuffs on is definitely a noteworthy sight, but it's the expression on his face that really catches Christian's attention. He's got his eyes closed, and as Viggo finishes with the collar, he looks... Christian doesn't even know where to start. He looks like he's right where he wants to be.

Viggo trails his fingers along the collar, hand splaying out against the leather, and he holds Sean's throat in his hand--loosely, protected by the leather, but that's still the kind of grip that can't help but get someone's attention. Sean groans; his hands clench into fists at his sides. "Relax," Viggo whispers, stepping in, wrapping his other arm around Sean's waist. He pulls Sean up against him, nice and tight, and nuzzles Sean's ear. "Easy, boy. Take a deep breath. Nice and slow." Viggo takes that breath with him, breathing in, and Sean obeys, taking a few deep breaths in rhythm with Viggo. "Now let those hands go. Relax them." Another breath later, Sean does.

"Good," Viggo murmurs. He nuzzles just behind Sean's ear, leaves a series of soft kisses down the side of Sean's neck and down to his shoulder. Sean's breath picks up again, hitching, and Viggo tightens his grip on Sean's waist. "I want to hurt you now," he murmurs. "You ready for that?"

"_Please_," Sean whispers. He clenches his fists again, but he lets them go almost as soon as he does it. "Sir, _please_\--"

"Good boy," Viggo says, and he bites down on Sean's shoulder--bites down _hard_, if the way Sean cries out is any indication, and Sean's cock jerks and his body tenses, and Christian's off the sofa before he can stop himself, coming up to stand in front of Sean. He takes Sean by the wrist, and Sean moans, leaning against Viggo, head going back to rest on Viggo's shoulder.

Viggo looks up at Christian, letting Sean's shoulder go and licking over the bite, but he tilts his head as he comes back up to standing. Christian knows that look, knows Viggo's trying to puzzle out just what Christian's doing here, and Christian takes a step back, letting Sean's wrist go. "If you're going to be at this for a while, I think he's going to need a cock ring," Christian murmurs.

"All right. Let's move to the bed, then." Viggo squeezes Sean's throat--not very much, the barest press of fingers--but it's enough to make Sean whimper. "_Bed_," Viggo says firmly. "Now."

It takes a minute before Sean's really ready to start moving again, but between Viggo and Christian, they get him into the bedroom, into the bed. "Want him locked down?" Christian asks.

"Let's get the cock ring on first; I'm thinking about it."

Christian nods, and he goes to the dresser while Viggo stays with Sean. He picks out a simple neoprene cock ring with three snaps, and hands it to Viggo. Viggo grins down at Sean. "Have you been in one of these before?"

"Yes, sir," Sean says. He glances up at Christian. "But not lately."

Christian raises an eyebrow at that remark; is that criticism? It almost sounds that way. Viggo's grinning, though, and he shakes his head a little. "Give him time," he says, reaching between Sean's legs. He cups Sean's balls in his hand and lifts them, getting the cock ring behind them before he wraps the front of it around Sean's shaft. Sean grunts softly as Viggo snaps it in place, and he looks down at his cock with an almost bemused expression as it starts darkening. The whole experience makes Christian grin, and Viggo chuckles, reaching out to tousle Sean's hair. "Jesus, boy. How have you gone this long without an owner?"

Sean looks back up at Viggo, eyes a little wide. "I don't know, sir," he says, and he shifts a little on the bed as Viggo strokes his hand up Sean's abdomen. "Sir, please, I just--please let me serve you, please, that's what I'm here for--"

"Christian? If you wouldn't mind getting those double clips..."

Christian nods and pulls them out of a drawer, then climbs up on the bed so he can attach the first one to Sean's wrist. "Spread-eagled or up above his head?"

"Oh, hell, they both sound fantastic," Viggo says, grinning at Christian. "How about you decide?"

"Like you don't know what I'm going to do," Christian says, grinning back as he pushes Sean's wrists up above his head. Viggo shakes his head and gets out of the way, and after Christian's done attaching the double clips, he helps Sean scoot down the bed so his arms are fully extended. The bed's too big for Sean's legs to actually reach the posts, but Christian's got extenders, and once they're clipped in place, Sean's stretched out and fully on display, legs spread wide apart, arms stretched out.

Viggo whistles softly as he looks Sean over. Sean's blushing again, starting at the chest and moving up from there, and his cock's pointing straight up. Viggo passes his hand down the front of Sean's body, gliding it gently over his cock, and Sean shudders, but there's nowhere for him to turn. He's pinned, trapped, and he looks up, eyes searching for Christian's. Christian nods at him and comes up the bed, kneeling down by Sean's shoulder. He puts a hand on Sean's forearm and squeezes gently.

"You're doing great," Christian murmurs. "Now you get to practice your patience. Don't think about what he's going to do. Just let him do it."

"Yes, sir," Sean whispers. He looks back at Viggo, who runs his hands--both of them-- up Sean's body, from his ankles to his waist and up and over his chest. Sean shivers again, licking his lips this time; Viggo notices.

"That's just fucking deadly," Viggo says, leaning down. Sean leans up, and he doesn't seem to notice the way Viggo's backing up, slowly but surely pulling away until Sean's straining at his cuffs, trying to get close enough to Viggo that he can get that kiss Viggo looks like he's promising. Christian exhales softly; he's done that to boys before. He's done that to _Viggo_ before. It looks beautiful from this side; the way Sean's neck is arched, the way he's struggling against the bondage, the way he doesn't even seem to have realized that the reason he's not getting that kiss is because Viggo isn't giving it to him. If he's good enough, if he stretches far enough, if he wants it badly enough, maybe he can have it.

_Deadly_, Christian thinks. It's all fucking deadly as far as Christian's concerned, and he backs away another few inches, trying to get some perspective. This is the kind of work he does four or five times a year with different slaves-in-training, more often if it's just a double-team scene or if he's stepping in to help someone out with a particular kink; sometimes they're eager, sometimes they're reluctant, sometimes it's just an overall bad fit with either Christian himself or slavery in particular. But this--_Sean_\--all his reactions--Christian wants it, wants _Sean_, wants Sean looking at him like that, at Bill. Thursday seems awfully fucking far away right now.

"What is it you want, boy?" Viggo murmurs. "Tell me. Don't just show me--tell me."

"I--please, sir--please kiss me?"

Viggo smiles at him. "Yeah," he says, very softly. "Yeah, I want to kiss you. Part your lips, Sean."

Sean does, and Viggo presses his mouth to Sean's, humming softly as he cradles the back of Sean's head in his palm and kisses harder, deeper. Christian watches the way Sean's responding, and as Sean sinks back into the bed, Viggo follows him down, reaching up to put a hand on Sean's wrists, over the cuffs. Sean moans again, hips twisting back and forth; Christian slides a hand onto his thigh. Sean gasps out loud, past Viggo's kiss, and Viggo nuzzles at him for a moment before pulling away.

"God, I can't decide," he murmurs. "Do I hurt you or do we play with orgasm denial?"

"Do I get a vote, sir?" Sean asks, sounding breathless. Christian chuckles at that, squeezing Sean's thigh, and Viggo grins, too.

"You don't get a vote. But you can tell me what you're thinking."

"That I'd love to have you hurt me, sir." Sean licks his lips again. "And that I hope I get to come _sometime_ today."

"You'd love to have me hurt you, huh?" Viggo slides off the bed and shrugs out of his jacket. "Funny. I'd love to do that, too."

As Sean watches--and hell, Christian's not going to pass up an opportunity to watch this, either--Viggo strips down to his bare skin. It's the first time in a long time Christian's seen Viggo head-to-toe naked, and he gives Viggo the same appreciative look that Sean does.

Well, probably not the same appreciative look. But the last eight years have been good to Viggo, changing very little about his muscle tone--if anything, he's leaner than Christian remembered--and leaving his chest hair a little more sprinkled with grey. It looks good on him.

Viggo climbs back up and straddles Sean's thighs, and there's Sean, struggling to be good, panting all over again. Viggo grins down at him. "It's only fair," he says. He puts his hands on Sean's hips and slides them up, all the way up, over his sides and up his ribcage, past his armpits and up his arms, until Viggo's sprawling across Sean and his hands are on Sean's cuffs. Christian thinks Sean's eyes might roll up in his head, and he's damned sure the cock ring was a good idea; he doubts there's any way Sean could keep from coming with Viggo spread all over him like that.

"You still want to hurt for me?" Viggo asks. Sean groans and nods, and Viggo reaches down and runs his fingers over Sean's face. "You still want me to hurt you?"

Sean nods again, but Viggo doesn't move. He waits, Sean's chin in his hand, until Sean blinks his eyes open and whispers--breathed out so softly even Christian can hardly hear it--"Yes, sir... I still... still want you to hurt me. Please."

"Oh, good boy," Viggo murmurs. He reaches up again, stretches out, and he gets a pinch of skin from Sean's right forearm and twists it. It's not the most obvious, conventional way to give someone pain, but it lets Viggo do it up close and personal, and Sean jerks underneath him like he's been smacked. Viggo trails his fingertips over the twist, then moves to Sean's other forearm, tracing his fingertips over the skin there. Sean squirms underneath him, eyes open, looking straight at Viggo, and as Viggo grins down at him, he gives Sean's other forearm a rough pinch and twist, too.

Christian backs slowly off the bed; watching Viggo hurt Sean is so intense it's almost dizzying, and they're so focused on each other Christian feels like he's intruding. He's not about to leave Sean on his own, not even with Viggo, but this isn't his scene, and he doesn't want to pull their attention away from each other. Sean's an incredibly giving submissive, pouring his heart and soul into everything he's ever done with Christian, but watching him give it to someone else...

It's both harder than Christian thought it would be, and easier, too. It's more clear than ever that Christian can't chalk Sean's responsiveness up to their chemistry together. Watching Sean with Viggo, watching Viggo work his way down Sean's arms, down his sides, sitting up so he can leave rough pinching twists on Sean's inner thighs, it's clear that Sean's loving every minute of this, and he's not just putting up with pain--or bondage, or domination--to make Viggo happy. He's here because this is where he _wants_ to be, because this is what makes him tick.

Viggo leaves red marks all the way down Sean's arms and sides, down the insides of his legs, and he crawls back up Sean's body and rubs up against him, his chest rubbing against Sean's, his cock and Sean's next to each other and sliding back and forth. Sean's lost his ability to speak, but he's still making sounds--happy, pleading sounds--as Viggo rubs against him.

"So here's the thing," Viggo murmurs down at Sean, propping himself up on one arm so he can slide his fingers through Sean's hair. "Last time I saw you I fucked you, and I _like_ fucking, don't get me wrong, but if I get to bring you home with me, that's not all I'm going to want out of you."

Sean manages to blink his eyes open, but it clearly takes some effort. He nods at Viggo. "Yes--sir--please..."

Viggo slips a hand between them and curls it around Sean's cock; Sean's head goes back on the pillow as he cries out. Viggo grins at him. "I like the way this feels," he murmurs. "I want to feel it in me. Now."

"Oh, _God_, yes--"

Viggo doesn't even have to ask for the condom; by the time he's up and straddling Sean's thighs again, Christian's got it out of the drawer and unwrapped, too. He hands it over, and Viggo rolls it down Sean's length. "Good boy," Viggo murmurs, reaching down and unsnapping the cock ring. Sean whimpers at that, too, tilting his head up to look down at his cock, and Viggo hands the cock ring back to Christian.

"Sir--I can't--if you--I won't, I won't be able to--" Sean bites his lower lip and growls softly, taking a few breaths until he can string a sentence together intelligibly. "I don't think I can hold off coming if I'm inside you," he says quietly.

"Well." Viggo grins at him. "I don't want you to hold off _forever_. Just until I say you can come. Trust me--the way you've been responding to everything I've done? It's not gonna take long."

Sean bites his lower lip again and nods, and Viggo glances over at Christian. "Can I get you to do the honors?" he murmurs, nodding at the nightstand drawer again. "I think watching me might--"

"--yeah, I think you're right," Christian says, pulling the lube out of the drawer. He kneels between Sean's legs, and Viggo glances back at Christian for just a second before returning his attention to Sean. Christian lubes up two fingers and then puts his other hand on Viggo's shoulder, squeezing gently as a warning, and when Viggo nods, he slides those two slick fingers into Viggo's ass, moving them in and out slowly, getting Viggo open and slippery and ready. It brings back memories--he did this to Viggo so many times when Viggo was his owner--but he doesn't let himself play dirty, not with this. He could make Viggo moan, he could probably even make Viggo beg just with his fingers, just with prep--he remembers how--but that wouldn't be fair to Sean. A lot of submissives Christian works with don't want to think about their owners switching down, and now's not the time to plant that idea in Sean's head.

Viggo stretches out across Sean's body again, and he looks over his shoulder to Christian, eyebrows raised, nodding down to make sure Christian knows what he's after. Christian nods in response and puts one hand on Viggo's thigh, moving him forward, and he gets Sean's cock lined up just right as he slips his hand around to the front of Viggo's thigh and draws him back. Viggo moans out loud as he sinks down on Sean's cock, but it's nothing compared to the bitten-off, muffled moan that Sean lets out--that's enough to make Christian shiver. He's done that to Sean, tortured him by giving him nearly too much sensation to handle, but not like this.

Sean closes his eyes, clenches his fists, and Viggo takes it slow. Of all the men Christian's known, Viggo's probably the one who best understands that fucking isn't a race--it doesn't have to be a contest, and they're not trying to get to a finish line. He waits for Sean, waits for Sean to calm down, and when he moves, he does it carefully, deliberately, enjoying every inch of Sean's cock.

The pace is slow enough that Sean manages to calm down a little. His hands relax, his body goes loose and pliant against the mattress, and when he finally gets his eyes open, Viggo's looking down at him, grinning. "That's my boy," Viggo murmurs. "That's my good boy. You feel fucking _great_ in me."

"You--_God_\--you too, sir," Sean groans. "Please, sir, please--may I--"

Viggo pushes himself up to sitting, and Sean cries out again, back arching, eyes slamming shut. Viggo grins. "I know," he says. He reaches down and drags his fingertips over Sean's chest, and then he rocks down nice and solid as he repeats that gesture with his fingernails, leaving white trails against Sean's skin that quickly come up red, even more red than Sean's flush. "I know how this feels. Trust me."

He puts a hand on his cock and starts stroking, slowly, and at that, Christian's willpower gives out and he finally reaches into his jeans to adjust himself. It doesn't help at all--if anything, it just makes him want to get his cock out and beat off in time with Viggo--but now Viggo's reaching down to Sean's chest, thumb rubbing circles over Sean's nipple. Viggo always was pretty coordinated; Christian's not sure most guys could ride someone's cock, jerk off, and play with his partner's nipple all at the same time. Christian probably couldn't.

"Sean? Listen." Viggo looks down at him, and he stops moving long enough for Sean to catch his breath. "Listen to me. I'm going to hurt you again, and I want you to come for me."

"Yes, God, yes, _please_\--"

"Come _loud_," Viggo says, and he starts moving again, everything at once, hand speeding up on his cock, thighs flexing as he rides Sean's cock, and when he gives Sean's nipple a good hard twist to the left, Sean gasps and arches up and comes, shouting, making noise for Viggo until his air's gone. He sucks in a breath and moans, and Viggo braces himself on Sean's chest, grunting softly as he comes, too, jets streaking out across Sean's stomach.

Christian's there to get the cuffs unclipped, arms first and then legs, and he helps Viggo climb off Sean and collapse next to him. Full service; he even takes care of the condom, and he heads into the outer room to get them some water.

When he gets back, Viggo's wrapped completely around Sean, arms and legs around him, and Sean's tucked himself in against Viggo's shoulder, both arms around Viggo's back, squeezing him hard.

"I got you," Viggo whispers. "I'm right here, boy. I'm here for as long as you need me. Right here."

Christian winces; _now_ he's intruding. He reaches over and squeezes Viggo's shoulder, and Viggo glances up at him; Christian gestures with his head back toward the sitting room, and Viggo nods. Christian leaves them alone, Viggo's voice turning to a low murmur of sound from a room away, and he lets his head drop back against the back of the couch, eyes closing. _Jesus, Sean._ He rubs a hand over his face. All he can do right now is hope Viggo's giving Sean what he needs--and knowing that Viggo _is_, that Viggo wouldn't let go of Sean for anything right now, doesn't make it any easier.

* * *

Talking about nothing is one of the most important skills Christian picked up from his years as a slave; it means that when Viggo and Sean are finished cuddling, when they've had a quick shower and Viggo's dressed again, Viggo can settle down on the couch with Sean at his feet and Christian can still manage to hold up his end of a conversation. After they've been chatting for a few minutes, Viggo reaches out for Sean's leash and clips it onto his collar. He reels Sean in, pulling Sean's head against his thigh, and Sean grins. It's just as well that Christian's been on autopilot this whole time--art exhibitions, house renovations, God-knows-what; it's all basic, ordinary small talk, and Christian nods and grins and laughs at Viggo's stories in all the right places. If seeing Sean curled up at Viggo's feet is distracting, Christian's not going to be the first one to admit it.

A while later, Viggo looks down at Sean. "Are you warm enough, boy?" he asks. "I'm enjoying having you naked at my feet like this, but if you're cold, we need to get you back into some clothes."

"I wouldn't turn clothes down at this point, sir," Sean admits. "Or I'd take a blanket."

"Okay, now you're making me think of taking you up to my cabin. Get you in front of a fireplace, roll you up in a blanket..." Viggo grins down at Sean and runs his fingers through Sean's hair. "Go ahead and get dressed. Whatever's comfortable." He unclips the leash from Sean's collar, and Sean heads for the bedroom.

Viggo leans forward and looks at Christian. "Bill talked to me about you two."

Frowning, Christian looks right back at him. "About what exactly?"

"You and Sean--or, hell, you and Bill. And Sean. He told me the two of you have been thinking about putting down a bid on Sean, always assuming Bill gets along with him. And that I shouldn't be surprised to see Bill on Thursday."

_Fuck_. Christian knew about the hockey game--Bill made sure to mention it after the fact--but he didn't go into detail about the conversation. "Nice to know I'm being kept in the loop on these conversations," Christian mutters. "What else did he tell you?"

"Take it easy. He just wanted me to know that he wasn't going to back off just because I happened to have Sean first, and he wanted to know if it was going to get in the way of our friendship if he bid on Sean."

Christian nods; it's the responsible thing to do. It's a conversation he should have had with Viggo himself. "Fuck," he mumbles. "Yeah, it's good--it's good he did that." Christian glances at the door to the bedroom; no sign of Sean yet. "I like him, Viggo."

"I can tell," Viggo says quietly. "I like him, too. You and me--our history's different from the history I've got with Bill. I'm not worried about what's going to happen to us if I bid on Sean, but I want you to know I'd take care of him."

"I do know that." Christian exhales softly. "I know that. I trust you. Out of everyone who's been interested in Sean--if it isn't going to be us, I want it to be you."

"That's part of why I don't want to drop out. Why I want to be sure I put a bid in. We're not the only ones, you know."

"I know."

"David's going to bid on him. He might not bid much, it might be nominal, but he's interested. Bruce is interested." When Christian nods, Viggo goes on. "Sean got enough chatter on the message boards that you're going to have a few extra faces on Thursday. And next Thursday. And the last Thursday of the month, he's gonna have more attention than he knows what to do with."

"Yeah. I think you're right about all of that."

"It might not be either of us. Have you thought about that?"

"I'm trying not to."

Viggo nods. "All right. So--five'll get you ten he's been listening for a while. You want to call him back in?"

"Sean?" Christian calls out. Sean appears in the doorway to the bedroom, dressed in his slave's uniform again, cheeks slightly flushed. "It's all right," Christian says. "Come on back."

Sean settles down next to Viggo, and Viggo snaps the leash back on him. "Do you want in on this conversation?" he asks. "I try not to be one of those owners who talks about you while you're sitting right there. Do you have any thoughts for us? Any questions?"

"Would it be easier for you to talk without the collar or the leash?" Christian asks softly.

"The collar's all right. The leash is a little distracting."

Viggo takes it back off immediately. "Have a seat on the couch, if you'd like."

"Thank you, sir." Sean comes up on the couch, seated next to Christian, looking from Viggo to Christian and back again. "I appreciate the care you're both taking with me. And I appreciate the honesty."

"Always," Viggo says quietly.

"I've talked to Christian about why I'm here and why I'd still rather have a contract brokered with Eclipse than be on my own. And I understand there's an element of risk involved. Can you trust me when I say that's what I want anyway?"

"Yes." Viggo reaches out a hand, and Sean takes it. "I'd like to keep seeing you for the next few weeks. Are you interested in seeing more of me?"

"Yes, sir." Sean grins. "Very much."

"All right. Then we'll take it one day at a time. I'll be back here for lunch on Thursday, and I'll probably stay close unless Christian needs me to back off. Is that okay?"

"It's better than okay, sir."

Viggo leans in and kisses Sean--lightly this time, no attempt to establish who's in charge. Christian feels his heartbeat picking up again--it just looks so damned good. They _both_ look good, and it's not the first time today he's wondered which one of them he envies--of all the contracts Christian worked, Viggo was probably the best of them, and he wouldn't have minded letting Viggo ride him today. Of course, he wouldn't have been tied down for that, and Viggo would have been the one begging...

He blinks, clearing the image. Some other time, maybe; they're both a little busy these days.

"In that case, it's time for me to go. Take care, Sean."

"Take care, sir."

Viggo slips out the door, and Christian looks at the clock. He's half an hour late leaving already; he looks at Sean. "It's time for me to go, too," he says. "Are you all right? Is there anything you need?"

"Would you take the collar and cuffs off me, sir?" Sean holds his wrists out. "They're not uncomfortable, but it feels wrong having them on without you here." He pauses, tongue sliding out over his lips--Christian's starting to understand when that gesture's out of nervousness and when it's out of want, and this time it's coming out of nervousness. "You or Viggo, or someone else who'd have put them on me in the first place."

_Me_, Christian thinks. He unbuckles Sean's wrist cuffs first, then his ankle cuffs, and he reaches around behind Sean's neck, looking Sean in the eyes as the collar comes off.

"I'll be putting this back on you tomorrow," he promises. "And you'll have it on Thursday before we go down to lunch."

Sean's eyes are bright as he looks at Christian. "Yes, sir."

Christian leans in, too, and when he kisses Sean--he's not Viggo. He can't just kiss and be gentle about it, kiss for the sake of comfort and connection. He kisses the way he always has out of role; hard and rough and open about what he wants, what he wants the man on the other end of that kiss to give him. Sean opens his mouth wide and lets Christian in, moaning softly as Christian puts his hand on the back of Sean's neck and squeezes.

When Christian pulls away, they're both slightly out of breath. "I'll see you tomorrow," he murmurs.

"Yes, sir," Sean whispers back. "I'm looking forward to it."


	19. This Much

Christian tackles Bill straight to the floor when he comes home--pulls Bill right off the couch and slams him into the carpet. Bill hits his elbow on the coffee table on the way down, and, irritated, shoves at the thing. Christian's with him on that, and between the two of them, they get another foot of space between couch and coffee table, and Christian shoves a thigh between Bill's legs and flattens him, bending his head down and biting at Bill's lips.

Bill stops him at that, getting a hand up on Christian's shoulder. "Easy on the face," he says--though it takes more than one try to get the words out, given how aggressive Christian's being. Teeth, lips, tongue, everything at once--all he's trying to do is get his mouth on Bill's and claim him.

He grabs Bill's hands and shoves them up above his head, and once he's got them both pinned under one of his hands, he grabs at the waistband of Bill's t-shirt and yanks at it, trying to get a hand underneath. He succeeds--Bill's not so sure this shirt's going to survive the encounter--and Bill has just enough time to realize what's happening and take a deep breath before Christian gets his thumb and forefinger around Bill's nipple and twists.

Bill struggles--has to struggle, this _hurts_, Jesus Christ--but Christian's cock is digging right into Bill's thigh now, and Christian stops kissing Bill long enough to pant for air, breath ghosting out hot against Bill's cheek. He lets go of Bill's nipple and growls, "Yell, goddamnit--I want to fucking hear you."

And then he's working that nipple again, twisting it the same way, just as hard--and then harder, and Bill does yell. Not the theatrical yell he'd give somebody who wasn't earning it--Christian's hurting him enough it's almost taking Bill's breath away, and Bill lets Christian know it. Christian groans and shoves his hips down between Bill's legs, rubbing his cock against Bill's thigh through two layers of denim. He's acting fierce enough, impatient enough, that Bill wonders if he's even going to bother getting his pants down or if he's just going to rub up against Bill until he comes.

He lets Bill's nipple go, finally, thank Christ, and he pulls back, separating Bill's wrists and pinning them both down. His eyes are so dark they're almost black; Bill stares up at him, taking in everything he can about Christian's expression. He's not smiling, so this goes beyond having a good day at work. He's going after Bill full-tilt in a way even Christian doesn't usually do. This is the kind of mood where somebody else would worry that Christian couldn't stop himself, but Bill's seen it before, and he tilts his head back, showing throat. "C'mon," he says, spreading his legs as best he can. "You don't scare me. Give it."

"Oh, _God_\--" Christian gets a hand between them, and Bill looks up to see what he's doing--he's pressing the heel of his hand into his own crotch, eyes slamming shut as he grits his teeth together. It takes a minute, but he gets his eyes open again and looks down at Bill, and he rears back, shoving at Bill to get him turned over.

Bill goes with it, resting his weight on one hand so he can pop the button on his jeans and unzip his fly. He can hear Christian, behind him, doing the same thing, and then Christian jerks at Bill's jeans, pulling them down. Bill can feel Christian's breath against his skin for just a second before Christian's licking into his crack, pulling his cheeks apart with both hands and driving his tongue forward, wiggling the tip against his hole. Bill gasps out loud, shock and pleasure almost overwhelming, but it doesn't last for long before Christian spits and drives in three fingers, hard. Hard and quick with no mercy, and Bill puts himself down on his forearms to brace himself, because he knows what comes next.

And he's right. Christian's cock, spit-slick and bare, pressing hot against Bill's ass, and then moving in--it feels blunt and sharp at the same goddamned time, and thank God Bill's been getting fucked a lot lately, because that's the only reason he can take this. He groans and tries to shove back, tries to relax enough to open up, but Christian's just driving in, rough, relentless, pushing past Bill's body's resistance and forcing him open. "Goddamnit--" Bill groans. "_Fuck_\--"

Christian groans, too, as he gets all the way in, hips tight up against Bill's ass. Bill can feel Christian's jeans against his thighs; he grins through the pain and reaches back behind him, arching his back as he tries to get a hand on Christian's thigh. "That's it, _yeah_\--"

But Christian grabs Bill's wrist and jerks it up behind his back, and Bill gasps, eyes tearing up from the pain. "_Shit_\--"

"I love you," Christian groans. He tightens his grip on Bill's wrist and drags his hips back, then pushes forward again, nearly rocking Bill off-balance. "I love you _so_ goddamned much--"

This time it's not just a grin that cuts through the pain, it's an outright laugh--though it gets cut off with a hiss as Christian pumps his hips forward again, making Bill wince. "I love you, too, you son of a bitch," Bill groans. "Do it. Come on. Fucking _hurt_ me--I love you, too, I want to fucking scream for you, come on, come on, come _on_\--"

Christian's the one crying out now, wordless, just holding Bill in place and fucking him fast and rough, and the friction's gorgeous now, all bright and hot and enough to make Bill feel like he's soaring. He might not ask for this, might not come after it the way a lot of boys he's known have, but when Christian gets him here, when Christian's got him wound up and desperate for the pain, god_damn_ but the man always delivers. Bill struggles against Christian's grip on his wrist, off-balance but needing to struggle, and Christian just keeps going, even though sweat's starting to loosen his grasp.

It doesn't matter. He lets go all at once and pushes Bill flat, pinning him with one hand on the back of his neck, and even if he can't push in as hard or as deep this way, the crush of Christian's weight against Bill's body and the scratch Bill feels when his cock rubs against the carpet is almost enough. Almost. He pushes back as much as he can, maybe an inch, maybe two, and growls out, "Come on, bastard, _make_ me, hurt me, _do it_\--"

And somehow Christian finds the angle, finds the pace, gets everything just right--hurting just enough, holding Bill down just right so he's trapped and hurting and helpless, and Bill closes his eyes and just lets go, screaming under Christian's hands, cock pulsing between his body and the carpet, ass tightening up hard around Christian's cock. The last few strokes are agony--but then again, it's all been pretty close to agony, and he wasn't about to stop Christian before--he's not going to do it now, either.

Christian's just as close as Bill, though, and with a hoarse, broken groan, he comes, too, cock jerking deep inside Bill's body. He collapses when it's over, falling over on Bill's back, and Bill manages to get an arm twisted around so he can reach up and get his fingers into Christian's hair, pulling tight for a few seconds before letting him go.

"Jesus," Bill moans. "Holy Jesus fuck, Christian."

"God," Christian mumbles. He presses a kiss to Bill's shoulder. "Fuck... oh, fuck, are you all right?"

"I'm fine." Bill laughs. "God. I'm hurting, I'm gonna hurt for a few days, but I'm fine." He tugs on Christian's hair again. "How are _you_?"

"I love you so goddamned much," Christian mumbles, nuzzling Bill's shoulder.

"I love you, too," Bill says, grinning. "You know that. You wanna talk about this?" Christian shakes his head. "You wanna go clean up with me?" At that, Christian nods, and he crawls back off Bill, helping Bill get his clothes off and supporting him as he comes to his feet. Bill winces. "Yeah, I'm gonna be limping for the rest of the day after that, and you--" He glances down Christian's body. No condom--he kind of knew that, but they'll deal with it later. "Let's get us both into a shower, huh?"

"Sounds good," Christian says, and arms around each other's waists, they make their way upstairs.

* * *

Bill tries hard not to wince as he stretches out in bed, but Christian still catches it, and he ends up wincing in sympathy. "I really am sorry--"

"Don't." Bill shakes his head. "Don't be sorry. You think you're the only one who's ever gone after somebody like that? I used to--" He cuts himself off there, shakes his head again. That's a story Christian really doesn't need to hear right now, not given the reason he's probably acting like this. "Let me tell you what people have told me--I want you to come after me when you feel that way. I like how it feels, getting you unfiltered like that. And you really don't scare me."

"I don't know that I've ever scared _myself_ before," Christian murmurs. He stretches out next to Bill and lets Bill draw him into his arms. "It's this fucking thing with Sean. He's so hungry. He wants everything, and I don't think he's going to stop wanting until he finds someone who wants him back."

"I think he's already got that," Bill says, nuzzling Christian's head. He puts a kiss on Christian's temple. "How was he with Viggo today?"

"Outstanding. Eager as hell."

"How was Viggo?"

"Every bit as eager, and he likes Sean a lot. They've got some incredible chemistry together."

"Were you okay with that?"

"I was..." Christian sighs. "I don't know how to answer that question. If Viggo's bid beats out ours, Sean's going to have a good owner for his first contract, and I don't think there's anything wrong with him getting somebody who's going to work his ass off to make sure Sean's safe and happy and taken care of."

"But..."

"But I want to be the one who does that for him," Christian murmurs into Bill's chest. "And that's really fucking selfish of me." He snorts. "Apparently today 'selfish' is my middle name."

"If you try to apologize for earlier again, I'm gonna bite a bruise into your ass that hurts you every time you sit down for a week," Bill says. Christian laughs, maybe despite himself; Bill grins down at him. "I love you, asshole. I don't want you to hold back on things like tonight just because it's gonna leave me limping for the better part of a day. You think I haven't been selfish with you in the past few weeks?"

"Not like that."

"No, I just sucked you off three times running, and you were _so_ happy with me after I made you come the third time--"

Christian shakes his head, but Bill can feel him grinning against his shoulder. "So we're both selfish sometimes. What about Sean?"

"What about him?"

"What happens if we want to be selfish with Sean? With someone who didn't choose us?"

Bill groans and lies back, tucking his arms behind his head; Christian pushes up on his side, facing Bill. "Hard question there," Bill says. "The easy answer is--we ask him. If we're afraid it's going to be too much, we ask him if we can do whatever it is."

"He isn't going to realize he can say no."

"Then you spend some time training him to say no," Bill says, frowning. "And when he gets here, we both work with him until he realizes that, no matter what the paperwork says, we're not gonna mistreat him or force him into anything. He gets to say no if he wants to say no. He doesn't have to put up with--"

Christian fills in what Bill was thinking and didn't want to say. "With the things I put up with," he says quietly. He reaches down and threads his fingers through Bill's, squeezes his hand. "I keep wondering if I just want to bring him home so nobody else can get their hands on him. Viggo's one thing, but he could wind up with so many people who could damage him--"

"Or maybe you just want to believe you've got altruistic reasons for bringing him home," Bill says. "And you need to stop thinking like that in a hurry, because let me tell you, condescension is not what this guy's after. Whatever he's doing at Eclipse, that's not what he wants." Christian's frowning, and Bill squeezes his hand before letting go and sliding his hand up to Christian's shoulder. "He went into it with his eyes open. He's been there almost half the month, and he hasn't run away yet. He came in through David and Karl, for God's sake--you think there's anything you've done to them that they didn't try out? How long was he _with_ them?"

"I don't know," Christian murmurs.

"And after however long it was, when they offered to introduce him at Eclipse, where he'd get more of the same--hell, maybe as far as he knew, exactly the same, for an indefinite amount of time--I mean, you think he didn't walk into this at least figuring they'd throw a bid his way?"

"I don't think I've been condescending to Sean this whole time..."

"And you know what, I don't think that, either," Bill says. "But I think you may be working a little too hard to protect him, and maybe that's not what he wants. There's something else you need to ask him. Or you can wait until Thursday and I'll ask him."

Christian frowns. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Let me ask you something, actually. What I got tonight--is that something you're giving Sean?"

"_What_? No--"

"Because you and I both know that we'd _both_ push harder if we had someone who just _gave_ instead of being--" He grins, halfway, lips turning up at one corner as he makes a wry face. "Us. You think I wouldn't want to pull out all the stops if we had a submissive third? You think _you_ wouldn't want to go after him as hard as you could? Because we can do this with you holding back, we can do it with you trying to protect him and be nice, but if that's not what he wants, who's it helping?"

Christian's frowning even harder now, and he sits up; Bill sits up, too, even though it makes him growl under his breath. "Now hold on a minute--there's a difference between me coming after you and you telling me it's okay, and--you do that to somebody you own, and how the fuck do you ever know if yes means yes, or if it just means _I'll put up with this so you won't send me to someone even worse_? How do you know?"

"You _ask_," Bill says. "You get to know someone as a person, as a human being who's got his own wants and needs and desires, and you show him he can trust you, and you never fucking lie to him or go back on a promise, and you ask him, honestly, if he's getting what he needs--beyond room and board and not having to live on the goddamned street, because that's not what this is about for some people. For a lot of people."

"It was like that for me--"

"And it was never like that for me. Ever."

"You don't know. You don't know that--"

"I know that even if somebody's a slave, you can treat him like a person and trust him to know who he is and what he needs. Probably a whole lot better than you do, especially if you're guessing based on yourself." Bill's glaring right back at Christian now, and he crosses his arms over his chest. "You can't go both ways on this. You can't believe someone's a human being and say we owe him the dignity and respect we owe anybody and then take that respect away by saying he can never have any agency of his own. I will grant you that some people don't know how to act on that; I will grant you that sometimes what you learn, being a slave, is that you just have to suck it up and tolerate things you don't want to have to live with. But that's not who we are. That's not what he's going to learn from us. And my thing is this: I don't ever ask somebody to trust me without extending that trust to them first."

"And sometimes you're wrong," Christian says quietly. "Sometimes you think you're getting an honest answer, and you're really getting what they think you want to hear."

Bill lets out a frustrated grunt and shakes his head. "Sometimes. Maybe. But that's true whether somebody's a slave or not. All anybody can do is try, you know? And accept that we're going to fuck it up sometimes. But God, we're not trying to fuck things up. We're just human."

"I know." Christian rubs at his eyes. "Christ. I know. I just--maybe he liked what he was getting. Maybe I'm not giving him enough. But if I go too far with him, I can't take it back. I'm always going to be the owner who pushed for too much--just because he could."

"No." Bill reaches out and puts his hands on Christian's shoulders. "That's the difference. Right there. There's never going to be a time when what we're doing with Sean is just because we have papers that say we own him, so we can."

Christian nods. He takes a deep breath and lets it go, then nods again. "All right. All right--maybe you've got a point to some of this. I just--I can't talk about this any more tonight. I need to think about it."

"Okay." Bill lets go and slides carefully back down to his back, rolling onto his side. "We can stop here for the night."

Sighing, Christian slides back into bed, stretching out on his back. Bill slides closer to him and wraps an arm around his chest, and Christian hums softly, relaxing under Bill's arm.

"One thing about tonight," Bill says softly. He can feel Christian tensing again. "It's nothing huge. Nothing earth-shattering. But did you think about the fact that you didn't stop to grab a condom before you fucked me?"

"_Fuck._ No, I didn't. Jesus, I'm sorry--"

"It's all right. We're fine--we know we're both fine." Given Christian's job, they both have regular screenings for the current collection of STDs, and they both try to play safe. They're also both human, and this isn't the first time they've had a lust-fogged in-the-moment accident with each other; the important part is that they've never fucked up with anyone else. Not so far. "But you need to watch yourself when you're in moods like that, especially if it's with someone who's not me."

"Yeah." Christian drapes his arm over his face, groaning. "You know what? I'm going to do better all around tomorrow. That's a promise."

Bill grins and hugs Christian hard. "I know. You know what else?" He bends in and kisses the only part of Christian's face he's still got easy access to--his chin. "Still love you."

"Love you, too."


	20. Second Thursday

Sean's nowhere near as nervous this time around; this Thursday, Christian's the one who's half-wrecked and trying not to climb the walls. Sean puts a hand on Christian's arm, and when Christian's head snaps around a little too fast, Sean raises an eyebrow. "Would now be a good time for a run, sir?"

"I'm sorry," Christian says immediately. "God. Yes, I think it would."

They get changed into gym clothes and head downstairs again; this time it's Sean who takes it easy, Christian who winds up sweating and panting after half an hour. He looks more steady on his feet as they finish their workout, and when they go back to the locker room, Christian heads for the open shower space. Once again, they've got the place to themselves; Sean eyes Christian, wondering if he should offer to wash him, but no, Christian seems to be taking care of that himself.

He's just working the shampoo through his hair when Christian says, "Thank you."

Sean cracks an eye open, hoping he won't get shampoo in his eye while he's trying to get a glimpse of Christian's expression. Christian looks serious, like he's trying to get something important across. Sean nods at him and rinses off. "You're welcome."

"I didn't realize how twitchy I was getting."

Sean turns around to face the spray; he grabs his washcloth and works up a lather while he tries to figure out what to say to that. The first thing to come to mind seems so self-centered, so unlike what a slave's supposed to say, but it also feels like the right thing to say, so he sighs and lets himself be honest. "I don't mind. I understand why. I think it's going to be all right."

"I'm reasonably sure I'm supposed to be the one reassuring you," Christian mutters, but he's smiling a little; it's a good-natured mutter.

Sean takes the thought seriously, though, turning to look at Christian as he rubs himself down with the washcloth. "Maybe you are," he says. "But--if you'll forgive me, sir--I'm not the one who's worried about this afternoon."

Christian pauses. "No, you're not," he says. "I'm just--I want things to go well for you. Regardless of how they work out for me and Bill. You deserve someone who'll be good to you."

"I'm glad you think so, sir." Sean turns away from Christian again to rinse off, and he jumps a little when Christian slides a hand over his shoulder, then steps in close. Christian wraps one arm around Sean's waist, the other around his chest, and Sean sighs and leans back against him, letting the water flow over his chest.

"I know how tired you must be getting of hearing this question, so I promise, this is the last time I'll ask. But I need to know. I need you to be honest with me." Christian pauses; Sean can guess what he's going to ask before he says the words. "Are you sure this is what you want?"

Sean nods. "Yes, sir," he says--clear and firm, no hesitation. "I'm sure."

Christian hugs him tight, bends his head down to rest on Sean's shoulder, and Sean closes his eyes. He tilts his head back, his own head resting against Christian's shoulder, and Christian slides his hand up the front of Sean's chest, fingers running back and forth against Sean's throat. "Yeah," Christian murmurs, and Sean groans as he feels Christian getting hard. Christian pulls Sean in closer and presses his cock up against Sean's ass, and Sean tries to spread his legs, but it's awkward here in the shower, and the most he can do is go pliant, loose under Christian's grip. "You feel so good, Sean..."

"I--" Sean swallows, and Christian takes his hand away so Sean can gather up enough brain cells to speak. "I think I'm supposed to, sir," he murmurs, grinning. To Sean's surprise, it makes Christian hold him even tighter, and Christian goes back to resting his head against Sean's shoulder. After a moment, Christian kisses the side of Sean's neck and pulls away.

"Finish up," he says. "It's time."

* * *

Christian gets Sean down to the lunch fashionably late; Sean's on the leash again, and this time his wrists are cuffed in front of him, too. He's still got clothes, which is more than one can say for a few of the slaves at lunch; in fact, one of them's already being bent over a table, three men looking over him while a fourth fucks him. One of those men is Bruce, the man who fucked Sean's mouth last time; Sean wonders who the slave is.

There's an empty table near one of the windows facing the garden, and Christian steers Sean over toward it. Sean looks around as they go, and he grins when he notices Viggo. Viggo grins back.

None of the other owners here look familiar; Sean doesn't see David or Karl in the crowd. After Christian gets seated--and gets Sean set up on his pillows--it's clear that _Christian_ recognizes someone, because his eyes focus on one man in particular, and the grip he's had on Sean's leash eases a little. Sean tries to pick out which man he's looking at, which is easy--it's the brown-haired guy in jeans and a t-shirt, gold wire-rimmed glasses, coming right towards them and grinning at Christian like seeing Christian makes him happy every time.

That can _only_ be Bill.

Christian gets to his feet and steps around Sean; Bill pulls him into a hug. "Hey," Bill says.

Christian's grinning, and he pulls back just far enough to kiss Bill briefly on the mouth. "Hey yourself," he says. "Let me introduce you to Sean."

"It's why I'm here," Bill says. He and Christian step apart, and Bill goes to one knee in front of Sean, putting them on an eye-to-eye level. "Sean, I'm Bill--Christian's partner."

He offers Sean his hand, and Sean takes it. "Pleased to meet you, sir."

"Pleased to meet you, too." The way Bill's smiling at him, Sean believes him, and it'd be hard not to smile back. "Christian's told me quite a bit about you, but I don't know how much you've heard about me."

Sean grins. He remembers every word of what little Christian's said about Bill: owned slaves before he and Christian got together, as dominant as Christian but more willing to give ground. Having seen Bill in person, that sounds a hell of a lot more interesting than it did when Bill was just a name, just the man who happened to be Christian's lover. Bill's older than Christian, of course, but he's in fantastic shape--Sean can only assume he avoided the business-casual wear that many of the owners are in because he _knows_ how well he fills out his jeans and his t-shirt. He's also pretty fucking handsome. And he's talking directly to Sean, not talking to Christian first and Sean second, as an afterthought. It's a surprise, but a welcome one.

"I'm told you like hockey, sir. And that you lean dominant."

"Well, then, you pretty much know most of the important stuff," Bill says. He chuckles. "You're the first slave I've thought about owning since Christian and I started dating, and that's primarily on Christian's recommendation and interest--if I bid on you and I win your contract, you'll be coming home to be with both of us. How would you feel about that?"

"I think I'd feel fine about it, sir, as long as Eclipse allows for that."

"Oh, yeah, we're clear on that part." Bill's eyes flick up to Christian's for just a second. "I asked."

"I thought you would," Christian murmurs.

"Anyway," Bill says, attention back on Sean. "Since the practicalities are taken care of, there's something else that's every bit as important--we need to find out how well we get along on some other levels. Are you comfortable with the idea of doing that today?"

Sean flashes Bill a grin. "Sir, I don't think you're going to find much I'm not comfortable with today."

Bill whistles, low and long. "Some promise," he murmurs. He glances up at Christian. "Did he come with the ego, or did you bring that out in him?"

Sean colors; it wasn't meant to be ego. Christian's smirking down at him, though, and Bill doesn't look annoyed, so maybe it's not a bad thing. "He's been confident from the start," Christian says.

"I like confidence." Bill looks at Sean, expression growing serious. "But Christian and I both play rough. Maybe rougher than you've seen here. And with two of us, you'd be getting twice as much of that as you would in other households. You sure that's the kind of thing you'd sign up for if you could?"

_Hell, yes._ "Yes, sir," Sean says. He straightens up and slides his hands behind his back. "Can I offer you something?"

Bill grins up at Christian; Christian hands the leash over to Bill. "Your choice," Christian says. "We haven't had lunch yet."

"Jesus, you're fucking evil," Bill growls, and Sean feels his entire body reacting to that tone of voice. He doesn't know what's so evil about Christian mentioning lunch, but Bill stands up and takes over Christian's seat, and he unclips Sean's leash.

"If you go into the kitchen, they'll have lunch plates set up for slaves to bring back to potential owners. Would you ask them for a tray so you can bring lunch back for--" Bill glances up at Christian. "All three of us?"

"The afternoon's young. Start with a full tray for two, and if we're still hungry, or you still want to handfeed him, we'll get something else."

Bill nods to Sean. "Full tray for two, then, please."

"Of course, sir." Sean smiles. "I'll be back soon."

The kitchen's familiar by now, and Sean spots the lunch and appetizer plates right away. One of the waiters appears as Sean makes a beeline for them. "What can I get for you, sweetheart?"

Sean lets the "sweetheart" slide; the waiter's obviously rushed and trying to keep on top of things as best he can. "Full lunch tray for two," he says.

It's practically like magic: one minute the waiter's looking at him, the next minute Sean's holding a tray full of tiny, bite-sized foods. "Thanks," Sean says over his shoulder as he leaves.

He's grateful no one gets in his way as he heads back to Bill and Christian, but in spite of catching a few owners' eyes, they all leave him be. Bill and Christian are sitting across from each other now, Sean's pillows on the floor at the foot of the table, and Sean sets the tray down on the table and slides to his knees.

"Thank you, Sean." Bill smiles at him. "You hungry?"

"Yes, sir," Sean says. He puts his hands behind his back and licks his lips, and Bill shakes his head, grinning.

"Viggo told me you were the kind of boy who wanted to be good. I really like that, so I'm hoping we'll get along nicely." He looks over the food Sean brought back. "Anything here you don't like?"

Sean looks at the food for the first time; it hadn't even occurred to him to think about it. The food here is always good, he's found, and last time he was at a Thursday lunch he was far more interested in being handfed than what the food was.

Still, everything looks good to him, so he shakes his head and looks back up at Bill. "Everything looks fine, sir."

"Great." Bill reaches down and clips Sean's leash back to his collar. "We'll start with handfeeding and go from there. Why don't you get a little closer?"

Sean crawls over to Bill's side, shoulder pressed up against Bill's thigh. Bill's warm, warmer than Christian usually is, and he smells great--Sean thinks he's smelling a little bit of cedar, but he's not sure. At any rate, Bill offers Sean a bite-sized sandwich, and Sean nibbles it off Bill's palm, licking up a stray crumb before sitting up again. When he looks up at Bill, Bill's eyes are darker than they were, and his lips are slightly parted. Sean feels a rush of heat go straight to his cock, and he laces his fingers together more securely. Bill's not just here for Christian's sake; he's actually interested in Sean.

The handfeeding goes on as Christian and Bill chat over the lunch tray, and after a while Sean notices movement out of the corner of his eyes: Viggo's walking over.

"I hope you don't mind if I cut in for a little bit," Viggo says. "I just wanted to say hello to Sean."

"What, no hello for me?" Bill asks, grinning. He hands Sean's leash to Christian and stands up; Viggo comes forward, and Bill hugs him. "It's good to see you."

Viggo looks from Bill to Christian and nods. "Good to see you, too."

"Well, if you'd like to take my seat for a while, don't let me stop you."

Viggo hesitates, but then he shakes his head. "No, I'm good for now." He reaches down and slides his fingers through Sean's hair; Sean rubs up like a cat in response, trying to get more of those affectionate but almost absent-minded strokes. Bill's watching all of this, and he shifts in his seat, reaching down to adjust his cock. That's interesting--Sean files that away for later.

"Happy to see me?" Viggo murmurs, and Sean hums out an affirmative sound. Viggo twists his fingers into Sean's hair--it doesn't seem to be about causing pain so much as giving Viggo control over Sean's movements, and he draws Sean's cheek up against his thigh. "I'm happy to see you, too, boy. Just wanted to make sure you knew I hadn't forgotten about you."

"Thank you, sir," Sean murmurs. He licks his lips--he's not close enough to reach Viggo's crotch, not even if he tries, but the fact that he's this close is more than a little distracting. "Are you sure there's nothing I can do for you, sir?"

Viggo looks at Christian for permission, and Christian hands Sean's leash over to him. Viggo reels it in, a handful at a time, and lets Sean's hair go. "Depends on what you'd like to do for me," Viggo says. "What were you thinking about?"

With some of the owners Sean's dealt with, a question like that would seem like it has a right or wrong answer; Sean takes a leap of faith and decides it's probably a real question, that it isn't a test of some kind. He looks up at Viggo and slides his tongue over his lips again; Viggo hisses and tightens his grip on Sean's leash. "I'd love to use my mouth on you again, sir," Sean says.

"God," Viggo murmurs. "Well, I don't think I can walk away from that offer. But I don't want to be greedy about it. Bill? You want in?"

"I can wait," Bill says. "I don't mind watching, though. How does that sit with you, Sean?"

"I--" Sean looks down at the floor; all three of these men want honesty from him, and it's nothing to be ashamed of. "I like being watched," he murmurs.

"You mind if I do more than watch?"

Sean looks back up at Bill. "Sir, I'm very much hoping you'll fuck me at some point today."

Bill's eyes snap to Christian's, and Christian nods. "Yeah, I think we'll be going there," Bill says. "But right now--your move, Vig."

"Christian?"

"Go ahead."

Viggo reaches down and trails the backs of his fingers over Sean's cheek. "Okay. Remember last week?"

Sean nods, then closes his eyes and nuzzles against Viggo's fingers. Viggo chuckles softly. "Let's go easier this time. Bill, is that offer for your chair still open?"

"Sure." Bill slides out of his chair, and Viggo takes his place, trading Bill Sean's leash for the chair. Bill unwinds a few turns from the leash and gives Sean a little more slack. "Easy, huh? Gonna let him get you off?"

"We'll see--whatever you and Christian are planning, I'd like to have my options open for that."

"And who can blame you?"

That gets all four men's attention, and Sean's surprised to see David there, no Karl in sight. David grins down at Sean. "Hi, Sean. How are you?"

"Doing great, sir, thank you."

"If the three of you are planning on a gangbang, I want in." He reaches down to cup Sean's face in his hand, and Sean rubs his cheek against David's palm. David slides his thumb over Sean's lower lip, and Sean immediately sucks it into his mouth, tongue sliding back and forth against the pad of David's thumb. "That mouth. God. Karl and I have been talking about how much we'd love to have you at home with us again." He's rocking his thumb in and out of Sean's mouth, and Sean sucks hard, licks in circles, straightens up his posture. David grins--God, that's such a fucking evil grin, too. Sean remembers seeing that look on David's face more than once while he was working on the remodeling at David's house--it was always a good look, the kind of thing that made Sean grateful he'd gotten the job. He squirms a little, spreading his knees apart.

"_If_ there's a line for Sean, I'll make sure you're in it," Christian says. "As it is, you're interrupting another owner's time. Viggo's up for now."

David gives Christian a mock-pout, lower lip protruding slightly. "Viggo got Sean all to himself last week."

"And he was here before you this week, too--so was Bill."

"Bill, how are you," David says, nodding at him before turning back to look at Sean. "Sean, love, you look like you're enjoying this. You want me to go?"

Sean looks over at Christian, eyebrows drawn slightly together. He doesn't want David to leave, but Christian's right--it should have been Viggo's turn.

"Back off," Christian says quietly. "If your attention span lasts long enough, you can have a turn later."

"Fine." David sighs and takes his hand away from Sean's face. "Let me know if you need someone wearing a good pair of boots over here later."

"I think we're covered on that end, actually," Bill says lightly, and for the first time, Sean looks at Bill's boots. They're dark brown, broken in without seeming old, and they've got classic motorcycle straps around the ankle, which is as far up as Sean can see. There's a soft sound from behind him, and Sean glances back at Viggo. He's looking at Bill's boots, too, and as Sean watches, he gets his cock out and starts stroking it, slowly, still staring at Bill's boots.

Sean manages to tear his gaze away from that--hell of an interesting reaction, coming from an owner--and looks back up at Bill and David. Sean wouldn't call it a staring contest, not quite, but it's definitely a moment where some kind of challenge is being made and answered, and the one who turns away first is David.

"I'll be here," he says.

"We'll see you around," Bill answers. After David's gone, he looks from Sean to Christian to Viggo, eyes lingering a little on the way Viggo's hand is moving on his cock. "Well. That was a nice diversion, but how about we get back to where we'd been? Vig, I think this is for you."

Viggo takes Sean's leash again and draws Sean almost into his lap. He's still got one hand on his cock, and he waits until it's got Sean's full attention, Sean's eyes wide and tongue sliding out over his lips in anticipation. "Okay," Viggo says. "Easy, remember."

"Yes, sir, I remember. Please, sir, may I suck you?"

"Good boy. Yes, you may."

Viggo gives Sean just enough slack to come forward and take the head of Viggo's cock into his mouth, and even that's fantastic. Sean sucks hard, licks his way around it, and only the collar and leash keep him from bending forward to take more.

"Nope," Viggo says, though he sounds a little breathless. He pulls Sean back off his cock and shakes his head. "I know you're hungry, boy, but when I say go easy--"

Sean can feel himself blushing, and he nods. "Yes, sir. I'm sorry, sir--may I try again?"

"Yeah," Viggo murmurs, and he lets Sean come close again, taking the head of Viggo's cock in one more time--_easy, easy, don't go too fast._ This time the licks are gentle, and the suction's slow-paced--not soft, but not so hard and fast that it's like he's trying to suck the proverbial golf ball through the proverbial hose. "Much better," Viggo says, giving Sean enough slack to lower his mouth another couple inches, tasting more of Viggo's skin. God, he tastes amazing.

"That is really fucking beautiful," Bill murmurs from behind Sean. There's a clatter on the table, and when Bill kneels down at Sean's side, he's not wearing his glasses anymore. He presses a soft kiss to Sean's cheek, then moves to Sean's ear, licking around the curve of it before sliding his tongue over Sean's earlobe and sucking that into his mouth.

Viggo hisses and lets Sean's leash go; he reaches out and puts his hand on the back of Sean's collar and draws him forward. It's still slow, but now he's not stopping; he keeps pulling Sean forward until Sean chokes. He gives Sean a little slack after that, but Sean keeps pushing forward, tries to ignore the need for air.

At his side, Bill's still sucking on Sean's earlobe, teeth biting in just the tiniest fraction. Even that's enough to get Sean distracted--he's trying like hell to focus on Viggo's cock, but God, it would be a lot easier if they'd just _use_ him, the way David and Karl did...

_Quit that. Stay here._ Sean squeezes his eyes shut and tries to get more of Viggo's cock, but Viggo tightens his grip on Sean's neck and draws him back a little. "We're not doing breathplay right now," Viggo pants. "You feel fucking great, boy, but don't choke yourself doing it."

Bill puts a hand on Sean's knee and starts moving it up his inner thigh; Sean spreads his legs apart further and gets his hands behind his back again, trying to get them out of the way. Viggo's breath hitches, and he says, softly, "Christian--you got a double clip handy?"

"Mm-hm." A second or two later, Sean's hands are cuffed together, and he can relax into Viggo's grip a little more. Bill keeps moving his hand up Sean's thigh, up to Sean's crotch, and he cups Sean's cock and balls in his hand, squeezing gently.

"God," Viggo breathes. "God, you look so good like that, boy--"

"He's right," Bill murmurs. "You look fucking incredible. You look good enough to fuck, Sean--would you like that?"

Sean would nod if he could move his head that much, but with Viggo's grip on his neck, he really can't. He squirms, though, getting his eyes open and trying to look up at Viggo, since he's unable to see Bill at all. He blinks a few times, though, and Viggo grins down at him. "I think that's a yes."

Bill chuckles. "Hope so. Sean, if that's a yes, come up on your knees a little and I'll get your pants down."

Sean comes up on his knees, driving his mouth down a little harder onto Viggo's cock. He doesn't gag this time, but when Bill pushes his pants down to his thighs, he tries to moan and nothing happens. Viggo eases his mouth back some, then a little further, and Sean can breathe again.

He can moan, too, and he does just that when Bill gets lube from somewhere--almost certainly from Christian--and presses two fingers into Sean's ass. Sean squirms harder--he can't really move forward, can't really move backward, and so instead he lets Viggo and Bill move him, let them push him into position. He ends up coming up on his knees, bent over at the waist so he can keep sucking Viggo's cock, and when Bill puts a hand on Sean's hips and draws him back again, it's a warm, easy glide down Bill's cock, ending with Sean's ass against Bill's lap and that incredible sensation of being full from both ends at once. He moans again and squirms on Bill's lap, and both men groan with him.

"Leash?" Bill asks.

"God--yeah--" Viggo's panting, and he grabs up the leash almost too quickly--Sean comes down hard on his cock and chokes all over again, damn it. But Viggo's drawing him into a rhythm, fast this time in spite of all his earlier claims that he wanted this to be easy, slow, and Bill responds by putting one hand on Sean's shoulder and one hand on his hip and driving up with rough, hard jerks, each one of which would make Sean yell if he had the breath to do it.

Viggo pulls back abruptly--Sean's left gasping as he does--but it's only so he can get on his feet. He shoves the chair out of the way and grabs Sean by the hair. "C'mon," he growls. "Suck me."

Sean doesn't need to be told twice; he all but dives forward, swallowing Viggo's cock down as fast as Viggo lets him have it. Viggo shoves forward, slams forward in time with Bill's quick, sharp thrusts, and Sean does cry out, the sound muffled by Viggo's cock. He tries to look over at Christian, tries to catch Viggo's eyes, and Viggo draws back.

"What?"

"Close, please, may I--"

"Oh, Jesus Christ, yes, _come_," Bill growls from behind him. Viggo lets out a strangled cry, and Sean opens his mouth again for Viggo's cock--which thank God Viggo's willing to give him. Sean sucks hard, pushes forward as far as Bill's grip will let him, and as they get settled into their rhythm again, Bill growls out, "_Come_, boy," and Sean's hands curl into fists behind him as he comes, orgasm surging through him hard and fast enough to make him lightheaded.

And he's not the only one; Viggo's right with him, his orgasm layered over Sean's, with Bill's low growl still fading in Sean's ear. Sean tries to swallow, but this time he doesn't manage it; Viggo's come spills over his lower lip, with Sean still trying to rub his tongue up against the underside of Viggo's cock.

When they're both done, Bill unclips Sean's arms and draws Sean back against his chest. "That was fantastic," he murmurs against Sean's ear. "Utterly fucking fantastic, boy."

Viggo grabs his chair and sinks into it, still catching his breath. "You're not the only one who thinks so," he says. Sean slides his tongue over his lips, trying to lick up Viggo's come, and Viggo reaches forward to brush a drop off Sean's chin. "I want to see you again next week."

Sean nods--but he's starting to realize that Bill's still deep inside him, still hard. He turns his head and nuzzles into the side of Bill's neck. "Sir--what else can I do for you?"

"Nothing else in front of an audience like this," Bill says softly. "But next week I want everything you've got to offer."

Next week seems incredibly far away; Sean frowns. "But--sir--" He tightens up around Bill's cock, and Bill squeezes Sean's waist.

"Next week," Bill murmurs, "I want to hurt you, fuck you, and make you beg until you can't remember your own name. How does that sound?"

"I'd beg _now_, sir--"

"I'm sure you would." Bill's gentle, careful, as he pushes Sean off his cock; he helps Sean into Viggo's arms and pulls away to clean up--Christian's signaled someone over with a plate of hot towels. "But that's not what I want. Understand?"

Sean nods, this time against Viggo's chest. "Yes, sir."

"Good boy." Bill sighs and stretches, groaning. "God, my knees aren't built for that anymore. Christian, you think you could grab us another chair?"

"Take mine," Christian offers.

"I hope you don't think I'm too much of a gentleman to turn that down." Bill sinks into Christian's chair and stretches his legs out. Sean slides back to his pillows, and Christian comes over to him with a hot towel so he can clean up, too. It's a good feeling, being taken care of, and Sean startles himself by yawning. It makes Viggo chuckle.

"Next week," Christian murmurs to Sean. "Think you can handle that kind of attention?"

Sean just grins at him. "Sir--handle it's not the word. I'm going to spend the weekend looking forward to it."

* * *

There's more attention from different owners over the course of the afternoon, but apart from some flirting and some light touching--one owner does little but say hello and grope Sean's crotch, which is somewhat awkward--there isn't much more activity. Sean's surprised that David never makes his way back to Sean's table, but then maybe it shouldn't be--he didn't exactly get a warm welcome from Christian, Bill, and Viggo, in spite of the fact that Sean wasn't unhappy to see him in the least.

Viggo gets up to leave first, and he bends down to kiss Sean before he goes. Sean tilts his head up to kiss back, but Viggo stops at the last minute, lips a breath away from Sean's. _Damn._ Sean waits for it, waits until he can feel Viggo's lips curving up into a smile, and as soon as Viggo presses his lips to Sean's, Sean moans, mouth opening wide to let Viggo in. Viggo takes advantage, kissing Sean soft and slow and deep, and as much as Sean wants more than that, he stays still as Viggo kisses him goodbye.

"I'll see you next week," Viggo murmurs. "Take care, Sean."

"You, too, sir."

Once Viggo's gone, Bill turns to Christian. "I guess I ought to head out here myself. You're good without me, right?"

Christian nods, and they both stand up. Bill gives Christian a hug and then pulls back just far enough to kiss him; it's a brief kiss, but Sean can see how much affection there is in it, how it's a normal, easy part of their relationship. Sean's not sure he's ever had a relationship like that, and he looks away quickly, shifting his position on the floor.

Bill goes back down to one knee to say goodbye to Sean. "I enjoyed meeting you today," he says. He offers Sean his hand, and in spite of how odd it feels to be saying goodbye with a handshake when Bill was inside him just a few hours ago, Sean takes Bill's hand and shakes it firmly. "I'm looking forward to seeing you next week."

"Me, too, sir," Sean says. "Let Christian know if there's anything you'd like me to do, and I'll study up on it before you get here."

"Are you familiar at all with boot worship?"

Sean nods. "Familiar with it, but I've never done it myself."

"I'd like to do that with you. It doesn't really require a lot of study, but if you want to poke around in the club files for some video, you might find something inspirational." He grins, broadly, and Sean suspects he can interpret "inspirational" as "hot enough to jerk off to"; Sean ends up grinning back. "In fact, if you find anything especially inspiring, I'd love to get a link to it. You can reach me through the boards, since I'm a member."

Sean's not entirely sure how to do that, but there are people around he can ask. "I'll do that, sir. Thank you."

Bill stands up--his knee pops as he goes, and he winces. "All right. Take care of yourself this weekend. I'll see you--probably Monday, maybe Tuesday, it'll depend on what Christian's doing with you next week and what Viggo ends up wanting to do. But soon. Definitely soon."

"I'll be looking forward to it, sir."

"Me, too." Bill gives Christian another hug and says a quick goodbye, and then he's off.

Once he's gone, Christian reaches down and offers Sean a hand. "Ready to head back to the room?"

"Yes, sir." Sean comes to his feet, grateful his knees are in better condition than Bill's--probably has to do with practice. He's feeling fine as Christian gets him back to the room, and the rest of the afternoon's easy--mostly Christian lets him relax and read, and Sean stays curled up on the sofa, head in Christian's lap as Christian strokes his fingers through Sean's hair. It feels good. He wonders how many afternoons like this he'd get with Christian and Bill, with Viggo. Next week, it might be a question worth asking.


	21. Adjustments

Bill laces his boots up nice and tight on Monday morning; he glances over at Christian, who's watching. Given that Christian's got little to no interest in boots on their own merits--very much unlike Bill, who's got a closet full of them--Bill raises an eyebrow at Christian and says, "You're still okay with my game plan for today, right?"

"Hmm?" Christian glances up at Bill. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Today's game plan with Sean involved hurting him, fucking him, and making him beg until he can't remember his own name." Bill remembers the game plan. Bill's been looking forward to it all weekend.

Christian, on the other hand, goes stony and quiet, nodding. "It'll be fine," he murmurs.

_Shit._ "You sure about that?"

"It'll be _fine_," Christian snaps. Bill rocks back on his heels and raises his eyebrows, but doesn't say anything for a while. He reaches out a hand and squeezes Christian's arm.

"You trust me?"

"Of course I trust you." Bill waits on that, and sure enough, Christian sighs and shakes his head. "It's going to be different seeing you like that."

"It's not like we've never made each other beg before..."

"And you know why I think that's different."

"Sean doesn't have a problem with it."

"Sean couldn't tell you if--"

"Okay, enough." Bill puts up a hand. "We've had this conversation before. I want this to be a good day for all three of us. If you need me to back off humiliation for that to fly, then I think that's what I need to do."

"Fuck," Christian mutters. "That's not what I wanted to say."

"If we're going to make things work, it has to work for all three of us. It's not going to be good for anybody if you're cringing through half the scenes I run with him--it's sure as hell not going to be good for me."

"It'll be different when we bring him home," Christian says softly. "This month he's having everything from position work to orgasm denial thrown at him--maybe he means it when he says he wants everything, but maybe he just doesn't know yet. I just want to take things slow."

"You really think we have time for that?" Bill asks. "Two weeks. That's what we're looking at. Two weeks, and we need to know if we can live with him, if the three of us work together, or if we're better off letting him go off with Viggo or Bruce or David."

Christian rubs at his forehead and nods. "I know. We'll make it work."

"And we should go." Bill looks at Christian and sighs. "C'mere, you..."

He drags a somewhat reluctant Christian in for a hug, but once Christian's got his arms around Bill, he holds on tight. "I love you," Christian murmurs against Bill's neck.

"I'm pretty great," Bill says lightly, and Christian laughs out loud. He slaps Bill on the back and pulls away.

"All right. Let's go."


	22. Close To Perfect

When Christian walks through the door with Bill, Sean slides off the couch and laces his fingers behind his back. They're a little early, but then Sean's been up and ready since seven. He blames Bill, along with Bill's advice to check the boot worship video available through Eclipse's media library. There's an astonishing amount of video in the library, and a great deal of boot worship in every imaginable combination. A half hour's worth of hunting brought up a pair of older men, owner in black leather jeans and boots, slave blond and slim, and between the hotness of the scene itself and the ease with which Sean was able to imagine actually doing that with Bill, he was hard to the point of desperation within seconds. He's spent a lot of time this weekend jerking off to the media library.

"Man, that's a nice way to be greeted," Bill says. "Hey, Sean, it's good to see you again."

"You, too, sir. Hello, sir," he adds, looking at Christian. Christian grins at him.

"Hello, Sean. Stand up for us."

Sean gets to his feet, but he keeps his arms behind his back. Bill whistles. "Nice."

"Thank you, sir."

Christian walks around behind him, and Bill comes up in front. Sean's not sure which one of them to watch, but since Bill's right there, he looks Bill in the eyes and tries to stay calm.

That goes out the window when Christian puts his hands on Sean's wrists, pinning them in place, and Bill pushes up close enough to trap Sean between them, so close Sean can feel Bill's thighs pressed against his own and Christian's chest against his arms. Sean moans--soft but audible--and Christian bends his head forward and bites down on Sean's shoulder. Sean jerks--he can't move much, but he jerks between them--and Bill grins at him, reaching out to put his hands on Sean's hips.

"You look good this morning," Bill says. He shifts his hips, and Sean feels Bill's cock rub against his thigh. He groans at that, too, trying to push his hips forward and get more contact; his own cock is angled down against his right thigh, not in a particularly good position to get any relief or attention.

"So here's some things you need to know about me," Bill says. "I'm not a tease. I always pay off. I like orgasm delay, but I don't typically go for all-out denial. And I really--_really_\--like hurting people who like being hurt. You with me so far?"

"God, yes, sir." Sean tries to twist his wrists in Christian's grip; as expected, he gets nowhere. "Please, sir--"

"Okay. Next on the list: I like humiliation play, but I want you to feel good about yourself afterward. It's play, something I like because seeing someone get off on it gets _me_ off. It's not something I'd do to try to break you."

Getting onto the topic of humiliation forces Sean to calm down somewhat, but he still squirms as Bill slides his hands up, starting at Sean's hips and moving up his sides to his shoulders. "I've--" He exhales, stuttering, as Bill cups Sean's face in his hands. "I've gone there before. With other owners. Feeling good after--I don't know what you're looking for. I've always been so fucking grateful to be getting any of it that I don't know if I'd even notice if I broke."

Bill's eyes go to Christian for a second--narrow and focused, like he's trying to press a point home--but after that second's passed, his attention is right back on Sean again. "I'm not gonna argue with gratitude," Bill says. "How do you feel about sex with other owners, Sean? If we bring you home, how would you feel about it if I invited, say, Viggo over? Would you be interested in having him fuck you?"

Christian's hands tighten on Sean's wrists, which is distracting enough Sean wonders if there's a right answer to that question. "It's never bothered me before, sir."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean there've been times other owners have had people over while I was working for them. It never bothered me." He sighs and reminds himself to be honest. "There were times it was better, and times it was worse."

"What didn't you like about it?" Bill's hands are moving again, back down to Sean's hips. Sean squirms into the touch, and Bill squeezes gently to keep Sean in place.

"Getting called on to push people around. Some of them didn't much like that, either. I'm not exactly the most aggressive top out there."

"I've noticed," Bill says dryly. "What _did_ you like?"

"Being used," Sean whispers. "Being watched. Getting passed around from one lap to the next. Things like that."

Christian's hands tighten even more; Sean doesn't know if that means he gave the right answer or the wrong one. Bill, on the other hand, looks back at Christian and asks, "Oh, God, can we keep him?"

Christian chuckles, and the extra pressure on Sean's wrists eases. "I think that's up to you."

"Well, it's up to both of us. And Sean." Bill looks down at Sean again. "We'd never spring that on you unexpectedly--you'll always know about it before it happens. If you're freaked, we'll either put it off or get you through it. And any rules we have for ourselves, we'll have for our guests--you won't get hurt past the point where you can stand it or scared past the point where you can deal with it. There's no point in bringing a slave home just to break him."

It all sounds reasonable to Sean, the kind of setup he could come to count on, but Christian's tensing up again. "Not everybody would agree with that," he points out.

"Not everybody's us." Bill looks at Sean again, a little more seriously this time. "You ready to do some work today?"

Sean grins at that. "Work? Is that what we're calling it?"

"Yeah, well--in case you hadn't noticed, Christian and I aren't exactly the type of guys who go easy on people." Bill grins, too. "I don't expect you to be out of commission for very long, but I'd love to bruise you up and make sure you'll be sore tomorrow. What do you think?"

"I think I'd beg for that, sir."

"I think I'd like to see that." Bill nods at Christian, and Christian steps away. Bill lets Sean go, too, giving him some space. "Get your clothes off. Nothing fancy."

With an order of "nothing fancy", it only takes Sean a few seconds to get his Eclipse uniform off. He tosses his clothes aside and goes into parade rest position, arms behind his back, feet shoulder-width apart.

Bill crosses his arms over his chest and looks Sean over carefully, head to foot. He nods, and his eyes come back up and linger on Sean's cock. "Hard already," he says. "Is the conversation turning you on?"

"I don't see how it could do otherwise, sir."

Bill's gaze snaps back to Sean's face; the grin there must meet with his approval, because he smiles back, briefly, before looking back down at Sean's cock. He reaches out and gives it a rough, solid squeeze, and then moves his hand back to cup Sean's balls, rolling them not-too-gently in his palm. "I like what you've got here. I haven't gotten to play with this too much."

"No, sir," Sean pants. He's tempted to ask _Is there such a thing as 'too much', sir?_, but he suspects there's a limit to how much smartass Bill can tolerate in a slave, and he does want to keep making a good impression.

Bill gives Sean's balls a squeeze--just hard enough to make Sean grimace--and then looks at Christian. "What do you think? Belt? Flogger? Something nastier?"

"Good old-fashioned paddle, maybe, unless you'd rather give the riding crop a whirl."

Sean licks his lips again and looks at Bill hopefully; there's not a single word they've said that doesn't sound good to him. Bill catches the look and laughs.

"We'd better start easy, because I still want to watch him crawling. I think we need to space out the furniture in here some, too."

"Wall-to-wall...?"

"--yeah, with the chairs."

"I'll get it done."

"Don't block the mirror."

"I won't."

"As for you, c'mere. Let's get some leather onto you."

There's barely enough time to react to that conversation before Bill pulls Sean into the bedroom and starts rummaging through the drawers, but it's an interesting one--Bill and Christian are definitely speaking their own language, finishing each other's sentences and leaving Sean a little confused about what they're planning. He can only assume that's deliberate, and he wonders how long it would take to get used to both of them enough to follow conversations like those. In any event, Bill's got plans right now; he finds Sean's collar and cuffs, but keeps going, searching until he finds the double clips, too, and a firm leather paddle with a faux-fur side. He pulls Sean in front of the mirror and makes him face it as he puts the cuffs on--ankle first, then wrist--and then finally straps the collar onto him, running his fingers back and forth over it once it's buckled in place.

"No leash today," Bill says. "Stand right there while I grab the rest of the tools, and we'll head back out."

He grabs the paddle in one hand and the double clips in the other, and they go back to the sitting room, where Christian's rearranged the furniture so the armchairs are at opposite ends of the room. The coffee table's out of the way, up against the wall, and the sofa's been turned around so its seats are pointed toward the wall and its back is facing out into the room.

"Good idea," Bill says. Christian nods at him, and Bill pushes Sean toward the couch. "Brace yourself against that. Spread your legs nice and wide."

The rough handling is nice; there's something about being shoved around that Sean's always liked. He takes his position against the couch, bending over with his forearms against the cushions, and once his feet are wide apart and he's braced, he lets his head drop down; he can just barely see under his left arm, back toward the room.

He sees enough to watch Bill coming over--well, Bill's legs, anyway, and for the first time, Sean notices Bill's boots. Black leather, new enough they're still gleaming. Sean's eyes go a little wide; he's more than ready to get his mouth on those.

Bill runs the paddle up Sean's thigh and over his ass, sliding it up his back to his shoulder. He's using the leather side of the paddle, and it's somewhat cold; Sean has a feeling he won't care for very long. The fur side feels a lot warmer to the touch, and when Bill glides it back down the same path over Sean's skin, Sean shivers; it's a pleasant, almost decadent sensation, and he squirms and wiggles his ass as Bill reaches it.

"Like that?" Bill asks softly.

"Yes, sir!"

"Feel like getting hurt today, Sean?"

"_Fuck_, yes, sir!"

Bill grunts; Sean tries to get a look at him, and catches him adjusting himself. Sean grins. "All those enthusiastic _yes, sir_s are going to make me think about military roleplay."

"I'd love that, sir!" Sean says, putting the same emphasis and enthusiasm into his words as he's been doing with the _yes, sir_s; Bill laughs. He drags the paddle over Sean's body on the other side this time, leather to skin again. Sean shivers a little this time, too, and when Bill closes in and rests his hand on Sean's shoulder, Sean steels himself--not tensing up, just trying to keep his breathing at a steady pace.

"Good boy," Bill murmurs, squeezing Sean's shoulder. The first blow's solid and loud; Sean almost jumps in spite of himself. Bill rests the paddle against Sean's ass for a few seconds, and then brings it down again, just as hard as the first time.

Sean blows out his air all in one rush and settles down; Bill wasn't kidding about wanting to see Sean hurting. He's starting off harder than either Christian or Viggo did, and Sean's not sure whether that means he's going to ramp up to something more intense than they've done so far or not. He can handle that, but it's not something he's going to be able to joke through.

Bill's hand is still on Sean's shoulder, and he rubs his thumb down the side of Sean's neck. "You with me?" he murmurs.

Sean nods. "Yes, sir."

"Gonna be okay for this?"

Sean nods again. "Just need to focus, sir," he murmurs. "I'll be fine."

"Don't do any of that macho teeth-gritting shit--if this gets to the point where you're not enjoying it anymore, you tell me."

"Yes, sir."

"But those first two--that's not too heavy to start off with?"

"No, sir--I can take it that hard." Sean presses his ass back against the paddle--it's still resting against his ass, and the leather's starting to warm up. "Please, sir, would you hurt me more?"

"Hell, yes, I'm gonna hurt you some more." Bill squeezes Sean's shoulder and runs the paddle up and down the curve of his ass. "Let's go, boy."

And they go--starting hard but slow, Bill gets into a rhythm that Sean quickly settles into, each stroke feeling sharp and hot against his ass. They sting more when Bill hits the same spot twice or three times running, but he's careful to work over Sean's entire ass and his thighs, giving Sean a little space to recover from the early blows.

It's not too long before even a little recovery time doesn't help, though, and Sean grunts as the next series of blows lands. These are slower than the first set, and Sean wonders if Bill knows just how much they hurt--they hurt a _lot_. For some reason, though, the pain's not scaring him like it used to. Maybe he's getting used to it--or maybe it's the feel of Bill's hand on his shoulder, the way Bill keeps touching him between blows. His fingers stroke over Sean's skin, moving forward onto the front of his shoulder, caressing him. It's not distracting enough to take anything away from the paddling, but it keeps Sean grounded. He tilts his head to the side to rub his cheek against Bill's fingers the next time they're close enough to do that, and Bill passes his fingers through Sean's hair, ruffling it.

"Still with me?"

"Yes, sir." It's low--Sean only realizes how low when Bill bends down to get closer. "Sorry--yes, sir," Sean says, louder this time.

Bill flips the paddle over and rubs the fur side over Sean's ass, rubbing it in circles, and Sean groans, pushing back against it--it's as if he can feel every individual fiber against every inch of his skin, and it hurts like the best kind of rug burn or rope burn, soft and rough and hot all at once. "Yes, _God_," Sean gasps; Bill slides his hand forward onto Sean's neck, fingers splaying out over his collar.

"Enough for now," he says. "C'mon over to my chair. I'm gonna put your mouth to work."

_God, yes,_ Sean thinks, but standing up with Bill takes all his concentration for the moment. Bill helps him over to the armchair, and he helps Sean get back down on his knees, which is somewhat harder now that his ass and thighs are hurting. The pain's still bright and beautiful, though, nothing that makes Sean want to avoid kneeling; he just needs a little more time.

Once Sean's on his knees, Bill takes a seat. He reaches out and runs his fingers through Sean's hair again, giving his scalp a gentle, lazy back-and-forth scratch as he goes. Sean groans; apparently it's not just his ass and thighs that are more sensitive than usual right now. The scratch feels fantastic. "Thank you, sir," Sean murmurs.

"You're welcome, boy," Bill murmurs back at him. He reaches down and slips a finger through the O-ring on Sean's collar, then pulls him up and forward. Sean goes with the motion, though he still has to take it slow--but Bill bends down to meet him halfway. He kisses Sean, licking at Sean's lips until Sean opens his mouth nice and wide, and Sean groans as Bill slides his tongue forward, rubbing against Sean's with a firm, steady motion. It's not the same kind of dominance as Christian's kisses, not the give-and-take of Viggo's kisses, but Sean likes it as much as either.

Bill pulls away almost too soon for Sean's taste, but he kisses the side of Sean's jaw before pulling back completely. "Such a _damn_ good boy," Bill murmurs. "You want to show me just how good you are?"

"Yes, sir!"

"Crawl on over there to Christian. All fours." Bill gets his finger out of Sean's O-ring and gives him a gentle nudge in Christian's direction, and Sean suddenly understands why Bill had Christian move the chairs so far apart--he wants to see Sean crawling all the way across the room.

Sean takes a deep breath, gets on all fours, and goes; the way his skin feels, tight and hot and tender, the crawl hurts some, but when he gets to Christian, Christian reaches down and cups Sean's cheek in his hand. "Beautiful," Christian says softly. "Can you kneel up far enough to get your face in my lap?"

"Absolutely, sir," Sean says, with enough passion to make Christian chuckle, and he does just that, kneeling between Christian's thighs and letting Christian draw his face down between his legs. He's gotten used to the way Christian smells by now, the way he smells early in the day when he hasn't had a chance to work up much of a sweat, and he inhales deeply, trying to taste it without taking the initiative and licking Christian's jeans.

Christian sinks his fingers into the hair at the nape of Sean's neck and rubs his cock against Sean's face; the rough scratch of denim just makes it that much more arousing. Sean's just about ready to lick, in spite of any consequences, when Christian pulls him away. "Back to Bill," he says. He doesn't even sound very out-of-breath, damn it.

But Sean makes the crawl back to Bill, and when he gets there, Bill's got one ankle propped up on the opposite knee. When Sean's up on his knees again, that puts his boot nearly at eye level. Sean's pretty sure that's not a coincidence.

"So did you get around to doing any homework this weekend?" Bill drawls, grinning at Sean. "See any interesting videos?"

"As a matter of fact, sir," Sean says, and he licks his lips on purpose this time, which gets a laugh out of Bill.

"Go on. Show me what you learned."

Sean groans out loud and leans forward, rubbing his face against Bill's boot. The laces are bumpy under his cheek, but that's all right; the leather's colder than he expected, but he doesn't mind that, either. He inhales deeply, drawing in the scent; that new-leather smell is almost enough to make his eyes cross. He's definitely hard, despite the crawl across the floor.

He swipes his tongue down from Bill's toe to his instep, leaving a shiny streak all the way down. It's cold against his cheek, damp, but right now Sean feels like he's warm enough to heat the room all on his own. He licks down to the seam at Bill's heel and then traces it, up and over the heel to the back of the foot, and Bill pets Sean as he makes it all the way back there, hand rubbing almost absently over the back of Sean's head.

When Sean kneels up to get a better angle, Bill moves his foot altogether, getting it on the floor. "You can bend down or lay flat--whatever's more comfortable for you."

Sean thinks it over for a second and decides to stretch out on his stomach; it helps a little, not having the skin over his ass stretched so much, and it puts him right there on Bill's boots. He gets his forearms underneath him to give him a little bit of height and room to work, and the change in position takes him a few moments to adjust to, but once he's got it, he starts licking again--fast little licks, slower licks, tracing the eyelets all the way up to the hem of Bill's jeans, moving down over the seams at the toe and ankle. It's surprisingly easy to get caught up in this, and when Bill reaches down and puts his hand on the back of Sean's neck, Sean realizes he's breathing hard.

Bill presses Sean's face flat to the carpet and holds him there. "You are so fucking hot," Bill groans. "And this--this isn't practice, right? This is just because you want it so much?"

Sean can't answer with his face pressed into the carpet, but he groans his agreement; Bill squeezes the back of his neck, over his collar, and lets out a long, slow breath. "How far would you go to get it?" he murmurs.

_I'm here, aren't I?_ Sean thinks, but Bill isn't looking for an answer out loud. He lets go of Sean's collar and sits back in the armchair, hitting with an audible impact, and says, "Christian. Go."

It takes Sean a second or two to get back onto all fours, but after he turns around, he's faster getting to Christian than he was the first time. Christian grabs Sean by the collar and hauls him up, and he bends down to get a hand on Sean's cock. "You liked that, didn't you? Licking Bill's boots and then crawling here to get to me?"

"Yes, sir, I liked it--"

"Liked the beating, too, didn't you?"

"_God_, yes--"

"Is there anything you haven't liked since you got here?"

"I've liked everything, sir--"

"Bill. Fast."

The chairs are starting to seem really fucking far apart now; Sean can only hope that Bill and Christian are enjoying the view, because he's definitely going to get rug burn if he keeps this up.

Once Sean gets back to Bill, Bill grabs him by the hair and holds him still. "You look so goddamned good going back and forth like this. I could watch you all day. Get your fucking mouth on my boot--the other one," he says, dragging Sean's mouth down to it. Sean goes with the motion, staying on his knees this time, bending his head down and going at full speed--no more slow drags of his tongue, this time he's just trying to taste every inch of that leather.

Bill drags him away from it after a few seconds like that. "Hungry?" he asks.

"God, sir, _yes_, please, let me--"

"Not hungry enough," Bill says, shoving Sean back. "Get back to Christian."

Christian slides his hand over Sean's back, then scratches his fingernails up Sean's back and shoulder. "You want to serve somebody?"

"_Yes._ Jesus Christ, sir, yes, please, let me--what can I do for you, sir, what can I--can I suck you, sir, please--"

"No," Christian says. He lowers his voice, so low Sean doubts Bill can hear it on the other side of the room. "Remember what he told you. He's not a tease. He'll pay it off. Just beg enough, and he'll let you suck him. He'll fuck you. All you have to do is beg."

"Fucking hell, sir, I want to, I'm ready, please, just let me--"

"Get back over there," Christian says softly, and he pulls away. The crawl back is harder than it's been the last few times, but Sean stops and waits for Bill to touch him.

This time he doesn't.

"Sir...?" Sean looks up. "May I..." He looks down at Bill's boots again. "May I clean your boots for you, sir?"

"I know what you're getting out of it. You're obviously loving it. What are you giving _me_?"

"I don't--" Sean closes his eyes; this is the place where he never knows how to respond. "I don't know, sir, I just--I just want you to have _me_, I just--let me serve you, let me--you like it, don't you, sir? Having people serve you?"

"Why do you think I'd want your mouth on my boots when I could have it on my cock instead, boy?"

"I--" There's an answer to that, a _right_ answer, there's a reason people do this, but Sean's damned if he can articulate it. He shakes his head. "Sir--"

He hears Christian's soft footfalls on the carpet before Christian actually arrives; he puts an arm around Sean's shoulders. "You're beautiful," he says softly. Sean has to fight down a wave of irritation; he's beautiful, fine, Christ, but he's almost got the answer, _almost_, and now--

"Come up. Let me help you up." Christian braces for it, and Sean follows him, letting Christian help lift him to his feet. Sean's not too steady, and only part of it is because he's been on his hands and knees for so long. There was something, Bill wanted something, and Sean was almost there, almost had it, and then Christian was interrupting--_damn it. Fuck. Goddamnit._

Bill stands up, too, and he and Christian both help Sean into the bedroom, into the bed. Christian strips off his clothes while Bill runs his hands over Sean's body, caressing him, and Sean turns into it, squirming and groaning softly under Bill's touch. Christian climbs into bed, wraps himself around Sean's side, and Bill gets undressed, too, climbing into bed with them both when he's done. Sean's still focused on Bill, determined to get that answer right, not even sure what the question was anymore, and for all that he wouldn't cut Christian out if he were thinking clearly, right now his thoughts are anything but clear. Bill rolls on top of him and kisses him, hard and rough and more demanding than Sean expected, and Sean spreads his legs; he tries to get his arms around Bill, but Bill pushes them up above his head, and drags his mouth away from Sean's long enough to pant out, "Clips."

Christian climbs out of the bed and gets the double clips, and he attaches Sean's wrists to the bed up above his head. Sean exhales hard, finally relaxing: it's not a verbal order, but Bill's put him in a position and locked him there. He's got orders to follow. He rocks his hips up underneath Bill's, and Bill kisses him again.

"You're such a good boy," Bill growls down at him. Sean nods and tries to rock his hips up again, but this time Bill moves, damn it. He goes up on his knees, and Christian hands him a condom; once that's on, he takes the lube (also from Christian; Christian's one step ahead here, Sean realizes), and he slicks up his fingers and drives them hard and quick into Sean's ass. Sean bites down on his lower lip, trying not to cry out; Bill's not exactly being gentle. But Sean's so ready to get fucked he doesn't want anything getting in the way of that, and he squirms his ass down against Bill's fingers, trying to get more.

"Right here," Bill says. He slides his fingers out and angles his cock down, and Sean squeezes his eyes shut as Bill starts pressing his way in.

"_Oh, God_, God, that feels fantastic, sir, please, oh God, please fuck me--"

"Hell, yes, boy, you're so good--you feel so damn good, boy, c'mon, show me how much you like this, how much you needed my dick up your ass--"

"--yes yes yes _yes yes oh, God_," Sean groans, "oh--fuck, yes, _yes_," hips working hard, body flushed and cock aching. His thighs and ass are still burning, but it's all part of a full, deep pleasure, one that Sean just wants to sink into and _live_ in.

When Bill pushes up and balances his weight on one hand, at first Sean can't figure out why--and then Bill wraps a hand around Sean's cock, and Sean's cuffs are the only thing keeping him from coming halfway off the bed. "_Fuck_\--!"

"You want to come, boy?"

"_Yes!_"

"Want to come for me?"

Sean's so desperate he can feel a tightness in his chest, a pressure between his eyes like tears waiting to come. "Sir... _please_..."

"C'mon," Bill growls. "_Come_, boy."

And there's no way Sean can hold back, not with that growl and that intense, focused look on Bill's face, not with a fucking order, an order while he's cuffed down on the bed and being used by the man who might well be his owner in two weeks--

He comes hard and loud, throat hoarse and cock aching by the time he's through. He thinks he can feel Bill coming, too, but his body's practically humming from coming so hard, and he collapses against the pillows, moaning happily. He knows Christian well enough to know Christian will get him uncuffed, that he'll get Sean a warm towel and help clean him up; for now, Sean can float in this loose, lazy zone of freedom and contentment, and just be grateful to be right where he's always wanted to be--finally, after all these years.


	23. Further Than We Thought

They don't talk about the scene after they go home, which is not a good sign. Christian doesn't know where to start--he's got no idea why Bill's being so quiet about it, but he doesn't want to be the one to bring it up, either--and Bill just isn't talking.

It went _fine_. Christian's sure it went fine. Maybe the humiliation was a little over the top for Sean's current level of experience, but Christian got him through it. Sean was a grinning, happy puddle once it was all over, and Christian knows that's a good sign.

After dinner, Christian pushes back from the table and looks Bill over. "Still like him?" he asks.

"I do," Bill says softly. "I'll see him again on Thursday, and we'll talk some more... it'll be okay."

Bill using the word _okay_ to describe things--not a good sign, either. Christian frowns, but Bill's already standing up and walking over. He squeezes Christian's shoulder.

"I'm gonna go get some work done. Didn't have a chance to do much today, obviously, so..."

"Yeah, no problem. I'll see you when you come to bed."

He doesn't, though. He's out cold before Bill even makes it back to bed, and Bill's sleeping like the dead when Christian's alarm goes off. He shuts down the alarm and kisses the back of Bill's neck, and Bill hums happily and tries to pull Christian closer for a hug. Christian takes him up on it for a few minutes, then carefully disentangles himself from Bill's arms and heads off for a shower.

They can talk about it later.

* * *

The unsettled feeling from the morning doesn't vanish when Christian gets to work. Sean's waiting for him, as usual, but this time he's not kneeling. He's sitting on the couch--all the furniture is back to its usual positions--and he's working his way through a pot of coffee.

"Hey," Christian says as he comes in. "How are you this morning?"

Sean looks up at him and nods. "Would you like some coffee, sir?"

"No, not right now. How are you?"

It's a while before Sean answers. He looks down at his coffee and gives it another stir, though he doesn't add more sugar or milk. "Sir, I have to ask--did I do something wrong yesterday?"

Christian's gut clenches, and he goes over to the couch, sitting down next to Sean and putting a hand on Sean's knee. "No. God, no. I don't even want you thinking like that. You were fine--everything you did was excellent."

"I'm just asking because--" He glances around the room, eyes lingering on the mirror. "There was a lot we didn't get to. I never found out why he wanted the mirror--I sure as hell didn't forget my own name with all the begging..."

The mirror. Christian winces just thinking about it. "You seemed all right in the scene. Were you okay?"

Sean shakes his head, and Christian can feel the blood draining out of his face--but Sean sighs and sits back, putting his coffee down first. "Yeah," Sean murmurs. "I just feel like I disappointed someone. Maybe you."

"Hey. Don't think that." Christian turns to face Sean and wraps his arms around Sean's shoulders; Sean wraps his arms around Christian, too. Christian gives him a hard hug. "You didn't disappoint anybody--not me, not Bill, nobody. You were great. He was telling me last night how much he liked you, and that he's looking forward to seeing you on Thursday." It's a bit of an embellishment, but Christian figures Sean needs it right now. "Do you still want to see him again?"

Sean nods, and Christian loses some of his tension. "Of course--yesterday was great, it was--I loved being able to get my mouth on his boots, I loved getting to serve, I just..." Sean shakes his head a little as he pulls away. "Something wasn't right. I don't even know _what_, but something didn't work out, and I can't shake the feeling that it was my fault."

"It wasn't your fault," Christian says firmly. He reaches out and catches Sean's chin in his hands, and he turns Sean to face him. "You hear me? It wasn't your fault."

Sean nods again and looks down. "All right."

"You want to do something a little more relaxing today? We could do some more massage work..."

"Sure--I mean, whatever you'd like, sir," Sean murmurs. "I'd be happy to do more massage work."

"Okay. We'll do that, then." Christian leans in and kisses Sean's forehead. "Nothing too hard today."

Sean nods. "Thank you, sir. That's--I'm sure that's a good idea."


	24. Veto

Angela comes out of her office and offers Christian her hand; Christian shakes it and can't help the small bow that goes along with the handshake. Years and years of habit.

She nods at him. "Christian--how are you?"

"I'm fine, ma'am, thank you." That's habit, too, the _ma'am_, the politeness. "Thanks for agreeing to talk to me today."

"Of course. Step into my office, please."

Christian walks into the office and lets her shut the door behind him. The furniture's all the same since the last time he was here, all the bookshelves lining the wall, the windows opening onto a private balcony with a beautiful view of the gardens, but there's a new rug. The last one he remembers was blue with a central flower pattern; this one is brown with a lighter border and a pattern that's smaller all over.

Angela herself is much the same as she's been the last ten years--graceful and elegant, looking much taller than her five feet four inches, especially with her knee-high, high-heeled boots on. Those boots are the one thing about her appearance that isn't rigidly professional; her suit is tailored, her skirt cut perfectly to land just above the knee, and although Christian's not familiar with all the designers out there nowadays, he wouldn't be surprised to find out her outfit's from Sasaki Izumi or Veducci; it probably cost more than Sean makes in one of his average construction contracts. Her hairstyle's the only thing that's different about her now, as opposed to back when Christian belonged on the floor and not on the furniture--she's wearing it in microbraids, all of them tied back in a loose ponytail, instead of in thicker twists that are pinned up into a spiral.

She steps behind her desk and sits down, then gestures at the chair across from her. "Please take a seat."

"Thank you, ma'am." Christian does sit, though in spite of the soft, comfortable chair, he can't quite relax.

"Now, then, what can I do for you?"

"I'd like permission to take my trainee--Sean--out of the lineup for the next two Thursday lunches."

"Really. Why's that?"

"I'm concerned that public free-for-all scening isn't going to show him at his best. So far he seems to do very well with one or two other people, but new elements throw him off-balance, and humiliation seems to be something that shuts him down completely."

"What kind of humiliation?"

"Verbal."

She nods and looks at him--her eyes are drilling straight into his, but he feels like she's taking in everything about him. He wouldn't be surprised to find that she's reading his thoughts, and her questions are only there to confirm her theories.

She's silent for long enough that Christian shifts in his seat. "Ma'am, Sean already has two registered bidders, and he's been seeing them during the week--"

"He has three, actually."

Christian pauses. _Bruce. Good._ "Greenwood put his name in?"

"David Wenham."

It's effort, real effort, keeping his reaction off his face. He's had years of practice, but his poker face probably doesn't beat her incisive gaze. "Wenham has a slave already."

"He's looking for a second. His finances and space check out."

"Wenham and his slave both have strong tendencies toward humiliation. Sean's been having issues with that--"

"May I remind you that Mr. Wenham and his companion were the two people responsible for recruiting Sean in the first place?" Christian closes his mouth; Angela goes on. "At no time during either of Sean's two Thursday lunches has he seemed in any way uncomfortable with either of them. In fact, reports are that Sean seemed quite interested in pursuing attention from Mr. Wenham last week, but you put Mr. Wenham off." Angela laces her fingers together. "I'm aware that your lover is one of the people who's registered an intent to bid on Sean. To this point, I've done you the courtesy of not assuming that you're too close to Sean to be objective. However, I have no intention of allowing you to keep Sean out of public view for the last two weeks of his training, and since Mr. Wenham's registered his intent to bid, he has every right to a supervised visit with Sean during the week if he wants one. Are we clear?"

"Yes, ma'am," Christian says tightly. Angela raises an eyebrow, but she doesn't say anything else, not for a while.

Eventually, she nods, and she unlaces her fingers. "Is there anything else?"

"No, ma'am."

"In that case, Christian, have a pleasant evening. Close my door behind you on the way out."

"Yes, ma'am." Christian gets up--bows again before he can stop himself, damn it--and walks out of her office, only wiping the sweat off his palms after he's closed the door again.


	25. Things We Have To Hide

Bill's over by his lonesome at one of the empty tables in the room on Thursday; Sean and Christian aren't here yet. Viggo actually arrives before either Sean or Christian shows up, and he spots Bill immediately, walking over to him with a grin.

"Hey. So where's our man of the hour?"

"Fashionably late again, looks like." Bill checks his watch; it's actually only five past twelve. "That or we're both early."

"Think there's enough room at this table for four?" Viggo sits down, but he's got a point; not only is there not enough room at this table for more than two, it's not sturdy enough to bend someone over.

Bill shakes his head. "I was told, very specifically, not to crowd Sean today."

"What? By who?"

"Christian, unfortunately. Apparently he went to the exec to talk about letting Sean out of the next couple Thursday lunches, and was more or less told to make sure Sean gets some face time with other people, especially people who've registered an intent to bid."

"Like me?"

"Like Wenham."

Viggo frowns. "_Really_. I knew he was looking for a third, but I didn't figure he was going to actually spend any money on it..."

Bill raises an eyebrow. "What do you mean by that?"

"I mean he and Karl tend to troll for kids off the street if they're looking for a third."

"Expendable targets?"

"More like cheap boys who don't mind being pushed to the bottom of the puppy pile if it gets them a bed and a meal, or a few meals."

"Either way." Bill grimaces. "Kind of hate to see someone like Sean going off with guys like that."

"Like what? Into humiliation? Are you giving that up if you bring Sean home?"

"No, I just--Wenham likes to see people break. Hell, I think Urban likes to see it even more than Wenham does. I don't really think Sean's the kind of guy who'd look all that good broken."

"I think you and Christian are selling him way short." Viggo raps his knuckles on the table. "I think he's tougher than either one of you realizes. And I think if he doesn't get some rough play here and there, he's gonna be just as frustrated with his new owner as he was not being owned in the first place." Viggo shrugs. "But that's me."

Bill frowns. "You seem pretty sure about all that."

"Unlike some people, I've actually been in Sean's position once or twice." Viggo rolls his eyes and shrugs again. "Not exactly his position, but I know what it's like to want someone who isn't afraid to drag you across the floor." He looks hard at Bill. "So since when were you _or_ Christian afraid to do that?"

"I'm not," Bill says immediately. "I want him to get what he wants--whether that's crawling or begging or pain, or just a good hard fuck on a regular basis."

"If that was all he wanted, why would he be here? You don't sell yourself if all you're looking for is a fuck here and there."

Bill's quiet after that, and Viggo eventually reaches over and puts a hand on Bill's forearm. "Hey," he says quietly. "You all right?"

"I'm fine, yeah," Bill says.

"Oh, 'fine' is not a good word coming from you. How are you _really_?"

"Worried. I think Christian's--" He stops abruptly; Christian and Sean are walking in now. Sean's not in a collar, not in cuffs--he's just walking in behind Christian, hands at his sides. Christian nods to Viggo and Bill, but he takes a seat more in the middle of the room, and with Bill and Viggo off to the side, within a few minutes Sean's got a new owner looking him over--Bill thinks her name is Lena.

"You think he's what?" Viggo murmurs.

"Can we talk about this later?"

"Yeah."

Bill looks over everyone in the room, and he turns his seat so he's facing the room instead of Viggo and the table. There are slaves wandering past the tables, boys and girls in various states of dress. One boy with a buzzcut and amazingly blue eyes walks over to Bill and Viggo, and he goes down on his knees in front of Bill in particular. Viggo smirks at Bill and turns his seat around, too--a bit late, but the afternoon's still young.

"I was just noticing you don't have anything to eat, sir. Can I get you something?"

Bill thinks that over. Christian's busy. Sean's busy. Bill gets to indulge himself once a year, at the annual auction and party in Hawaii, and he's got a feeling that if he and Christian don't manage to buy Sean, it's going to be back to once a year instead of lunches every Thursday. "I'd like that," he says at last, nodding down at the slave. "Get enough to share, and I'll feed you."

"Yes, sir."

Viggo chuckles as the slave walks away. "So why you and not me?"

"Oh, give it five minutes. You'll get some attention."

"You think it's the mustache?"

"Nah. Makes you look nice and butch. Lots of slaves like that."

"I think if your boy comes back and he's up for a three-way, I want in."

But Bill's right--it doesn't even take five minutes before Viggo gets some attention. To his surprise, though, it's not one of the freely-roaming slaves--it's Karl, who plants himself right in front of Viggo and looks him up and down. "Viggo."

"Karl." Viggo returns the favor, sweeping his eyes over Karl, and Bill joins him in looking; Karl is, after all, right there. And he's wearing only a pair of jeans with the top button undone, plus that heavy steel collar David has him locked into, one of those single-band deals with an actual padlock. It doesn't make him look the least bit submissive, but then Karl's not; Bill's seen enough of him to realize that.

He glances around the room, looking for David; David's over with Sean, and Sean's got two of David's fingers in his mouth and is sucking like it's David's cock instead.

"I think we're all after the same boy today," Karl says. "Unless you'd like to spend some time with me while David's busy."

The question's addressed to Viggo, who raises both eyebrows at Karl. "What are you offering, exactly? Because last I checked, we didn't exactly have compatible interests."

Karl just keeps grinning. "You might be surprised."

"I'll pass, thanks." Viggo's firm about it. Karl gives Bill a quick once-over, but Bill's not surprised when he doesn't make the same offer to him. "Take care."

Even Karl knows when he's being dismissed, and he nods to Viggo. "Let me know if you have second thoughts," he says. "I'll see you around."

Viggo whistles, soft and low, after Karl's gone. "You have to give him credit for that, at least--he's bold as all hell."

Bill shoots Viggo a sidelong look. "You've really never gone off with those two for a night or something? I'm surprised--you've known them longer than you've known me, so there's a lot of overlap..." Overlap between the days when Viggo leaned submissive instead of dominant, Bill's thinking; while it's hard for Bill to imagine Sean with David and Karl, it's _not_ hard for him to imagine Viggo with them.

He looks back at Sean, who's gone from sucking on David's fingers to having David all over him--they're both standing, Sean blocked in against the table, David pressed up against Sean's back, and David's got a hand on Sean's throat while he whispers into Sean's ear. From this far away, Bill can't make out a word, but Christian's watching them like a hawk, eyes narrowed, jaw so tight Bill winces--that looks like it hurts.

But Sean's eyes are closed, and he's reaching back to David's hips. He's hard, tongue licking over his lips, and as Bill watches, David reaches into Sean's pants and gets his cock out. Sean jerks under David's grip, and David tightens his fingers on Sean's throat. Sean goes still, but David's working his cock now, rough and quick. Sean bites down on his lower lip, and David stops everything cold until Sean opens his mouth again. Sean starts to whisper something, pant something, and while Bill's too far away to hear it, he's pretty sure he can make out the shape of what Sean's saying on his lips. It's just one word, over and over, and unless Bill's reading the whole scene wrong, Sean's saying _please_.

"Jesus Christ," Bill mutters, and Viggo grunts his agreement. He taps Bill's shoulder and points at the door to the kitchen, though, and as much as Bill doesn't want to look anywhere else, the slave with the ice-blue eyes is on his way back. He's got a tray in his hands, and Bill sits up straight. Not fair to ignore the boy who's actually trying to serve him in favor of one who's just on display.

"Welcome back," he says. The slave puts the tray on the table between Bill and Viggo, and kneels down at Bill's feet. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name."

"Wentworth, sir."

"Wentworth." Bill can't tell if that's a first name or a last name, but it doesn't matter--it's the name the slave gave him, after all. "Is that what you'd like me to call you?"

"I'm perfectly happy with 'boy', sir. I don't mind other things, either."

"Other things like what?"

"I hear 'bitch' pretty often."

"So you're okay with humiliation," Viggo says, and the pointed tone he uses is directed at Bill, not Wentworth. Bill flashes Viggo a look, but Wentworth ignores it--pretty good behavior there; he's not getting pushy about their conversation.

"Yes, sir," Wentworth says. "Just fine with it, sir."

"Let's start with 'boy' for now," Bill says. "What else do you like?"

That rocks Wentworth off-balance for a minute, but instead of shrugging and giving one of those crap answers like _everything, sir_ or _whatever you want_, he puts some thought into it. "I like needles, sir--play piercing--and I like bondage. I like being fucked. I like dirty talk."

"Doing it or hearing it?"

"Hearing it, sir."

"Are you into service at all?"

"I have training, sir. Valet and tea--I've been asked to stand in for furniture here and there."

"Training doesn't mean you're into it," Viggo points out. "What do you like, out of all that?"

"Honestly, sir?" Viggo nods at him. "I'm neutral on service, but the attention's nice."

"Good enough," Bill says. He leans down and stretches out a hand to Wentworth. "I'm Bill."

"Bill," Wentworth repeats. He takes Bill's hand and shakes it firmly, which is always nice--then again, Wentworth didn't seem very hesitant, considering the way he came up to Bill in the first place. "What would you like me to call _you_, sir?"

"Bill or sir's fine. Either one, and don't worry about being consistent. This is Viggo," Bill says, pointing his thumb at him.

Viggo offers Wentworth his hand, too. "Nice to meet you, boy," Viggo says. "I'm not much a stickler for titles--" At Bill's raised eyebrow, Viggo quickly corrects, "outside of roleplay scenes, which I don't really think we're after this afternoon. 'Sir' or Viggo will do for me."

"Fine by me, sir." Wentworth grins at Viggo, and Bill has a chance to check out his profile as he does. He really is attractive; if Bill were on his own, Wentworth's exactly the kind of slave he'd go for.

He catches a flash of color on the back of Wentworth's neck, and he tilts his head to get a better look at it. "Is that ink on your neck?"

Wentworth turns around and tugs the collar on his shirt down. It is, in fact, a tattoo, and it seems to stretch down under his shirt. "Yes, sir--I'm pretty heavily inked. My last owner was a tattoo artist, and I came to him with a little ink already--he actually helped me design most of what I've got, and I got it free while I was with him."

"It barely shows out from under your uniform."

Wentworth nods. "That was deliberate, sir--we both wanted to make sure it was something I could cover if I ever needed to. It's on my chest and my back, collarbones to waist, shoulders to tailbone."

"I'd love to see it," Viggo says. "Are you comfortable showing it off?"

"Yes, sir." Wentworth nods at Viggo, and when Bill nods to him, too, he strips his t-shirt off. Viggo whistles again, and he's not the only one who's impressed--the tattoos are beautiful swirling designs in full color, all of them integrated with each other. Wentworth raises his arms and turns around on his knees, and Bill and Viggo get to see the rest of it. There's something medieval about it, almost--the patterns aren't individual pictures, per se, but they're anything but abstract.

"That's _gorgeous_," Viggo says.

"It is," Bill agrees. "I'm guessing you don't do a lot of painplay from the top."

Wentworth laughs as he turns around. "For several years this _was_ my painplay from the top, sir. But no, we were careful to keep from doing anything that would damage the ink. That still leaves a lot of room."

"It would," Viggo says. "Do you mind if I touch you? I'd like to trace those tattoos."

"I'd be honored, sir."

_Honor_ is a little over-the-top for Bill, but he knows it'll work for Viggo. Viggo, for his part, slides off his chair, kneeling next to Wentworth, fingers sliding over the lines and curves. There are a lot of sharp angles in the designs, and Viggo changes direction when he reaches them, fingertip paths tracing back and forth and crossing each other.

"Bill? Do me a favor and scare up something for Wentworth to lie down on."

"Sure," Bill says. "Back in a minute."

He heads to one of the staff members, one of the people with an earpiece and a mic that connects her to supplies and storage; she nods and says she'll get right on it. On his way back, he looks in at Sean again--David's gone, but Sean's eyes are wide and bright, hair mussed. He's on his knees again, Christian's hand on his shoulder, and he's looking over everyone in the crowd. Another owner's got her eyes on him; as Bill gets back to his table with Viggo, she pulls a chair forward, straddles it backwards, and stretches out a foot in Sean's direction. She's wearing thigh-high patent leather boots. Sean looks like he might start drooling at any second.

Viggo's got Wentworth on his back, despite the lack of any pillows or cushions; he's still tracing the patterns on Wentworth's skin. Wentworth is visibly hard now, lips parted, breathing heavily. When a pair of staff members come by with a cushion for Wentworth, Bill helps Viggo get Wentworth into place; the cushion's actually pretty big, almost enough that Wentworth could lie out flat on it, but it's got D-rings sewn into the sides at top, bottom, and middle for better bondage. Viggo looks at Wentworth's hands and feet. "Oh, we need some cuffs with this."

"I'd like that, sir."

"We'll get you some cuffs," one of the staff members says. "Back in a minute."

Now that Wentworth's on something a little more comfortable than the floor, Viggo straddles his thighs and puts both hands on his chest, still tracing his tattoos. He bends his head down and puts his mouth on Wentworth's shoulder, and Wentworth hisses like he's been bitten. Viggo's moving down, though, tongue tracing one of the thicker lines, and Wentworth reaches up and threads his fingers through the upper set of D-rings, holding on hard.

Bill kneels down near the top of the cushion and puts his hands on Wentworth's wrists. "Until they get back," he says. Wentworth glances up at him and grins--man, that's some grin, too, all smirk and confidence. Even upside-down, it looks good.

Cuffs appear a minute or two later, with Viggo still licking his way over Wentworth's chest, and Bill gets Wentworth cuffed down and attached to the cushion. Wentworth seems to relax a little after that, tugging against the cuffs from time to time when Viggo slides over a sensitive part.

There's a sound from the rest of the room that makes Bill look up; someone just came hurting. He's not surprised when he sees who it is and how: Sean's bent over his table, Karl fucking him, Sean's wrists pinned to his lower back. Karl's grinning ear-to-ear, David standing behind him whispering something into _his_ ear, and Christian's gone from steely-jawed tolerance to looking... maybe a little more relaxed; his jaw might have gotten tired.

Then Bill notices that Christian's got a hand in his lap. He can't see just what that hand's doing from here, but the fact that Christian's arm isn't moving implies that he's not doing much. Bill wonders if Christian's even aware he's touching himself, or if he's trying to keep his cock from responding to what he's watching.

Wentworth moans, and that brings Bill's attention right back to him and Viggo. Viggo's down at Wentworth's stomach now, and Wentworth's straining against his cuffs a little more. Viggo pins Wentworth's hips down to the cushion, but Wentworth arches and strains anyway. Bill wonders who Wentworth's trainer is, whether Wentworth's been getting enough attention--maybe with that kind of marking on him, other owners have been scared off. Avoiding damage to the tattoos would require a lot of care, giving up a lot of things most owners wouldn't want to let go, but it wouldn't put Bill off for a minute; if Wentworth's okay with service, Bill could find ways of getting everything else he wanted out of him. _Play piercing_, he thinks. There's something he hasn't done in years. Like a lot of things, it's something he gave up when he and Christian got together.

But, hell, Christian's busy right now. Over at Christian and Sean's table, Karl's turned away from Sean; David's kissing him like he's got something to prove, his hands on Karl's wrists, and Karl's rubbing up as if he didn't get to come with Sean. Christian's got Sean on his lap, and he's kissing Sean hard, Sean rocking up and down on Christian's lap--Jesus, Bill thinks Christian's _fucking_ him. That's completely unexpected, and it means Bill's got no idea where to look.

"Oh, God, _please_," Wentworth groans, which decides the issue for now; Viggo's drawn Wentworth's pants down around his thighs, and he's licking his lips as he looks down at Wentworth's cock.

"You want it?"

"Please!"

"Want me to suck it?"

"Oh, fuck, yes, sir, please, please--"

Viggo doesn't make him beg any more than that, which is really too bad--Bill could have handled a hell of a lot more begging. Maybe he'll get his chance later. In the meantime, Viggo takes a long, broad swipe up the underside of Wentworth's cock and then draws it into his mouth without even using his hands. Wentworth's head tilts back, and he moans more, loud and throaty--he sounds like a man who doesn't get this sort of treatment very often. Once again, Bill wonders who's been training him, or if he's just not getting a lot of offers.

He trails his fingertips up the insides of Wentworth's arms, making Wentworth jump and squirm against his touch. "Your trainer got any restrictions on when you can come?" Bill asks.

"_Nnn--_no--no, sir," Wentworth pants. "Sir, please, I'd love to come for you, please, please--"

Viggo moves one of his hands to the base of Wentworth's cock, and between the way he's jacking Wentworth and the way his mouth's moving fast and hard, Wentworth clenches his fists hard and growls out, "_Please!_"

"Not yet," Bill says. "You think I'm gonna let you come without getting what _I_ want out of you?"

"Fuck," Wentworth spits, squirming under Viggo. "Fuck--sir, please, I can't--"

"Bullshit you can't," Bill says, wrapping his hand around Wentworth's wrist just below his cuff. "Are you gonna tell me you've got no experience with orgasm denial at all?"

Wentworth puts his teeth together and hisses, whole body tight and rigid now. "_Nnn._"

"Is that my answer?" Bill would grab Wentworth by the hair if there were enough to hang onto, but there's not. He moves around, getting face-to-face with him, and puts his hand on Wentworth's chest, far enough from his throat that he's not in any danger, but close enough to make a statement. "No?"

"Sir," Wentworth stutters out, "sir, I--I--_fuck_\--yes, sir--"

Wentworth's actually doing pretty well with orgasm denial, considering how good Viggo's mouth is and the fact that he hasn't missed a beat while Bill's been talking. "Is that how you want to make your first impression with us? Can't even talk straight?"

Wentworth growls out between his teeth and exhales hard. "I'm trained in orgasm denial, _sir_, but it's been a goddamn long time since an owner sucked me off, _sir_, so it's a fucking challenge."

_So are you_, Bill thinks, and he draws his hand down lower on Wentworth's chest, rubbing his thumb over Wentworth's nipple. "You want some pain with that? Would that help you keep from getting your come all over Viggo's face?"

This time Viggo's the one making sounds--Bill recognizes that startled, turned-on noise, and he speeds up on Wentworth's dick. Wentworth drops his head back against the cushion and moans.

Bill flicks a fingertip across Wentworth's nipple, and Wentworth gasps again. "Ask me for it," Bill says. "C'mon, bitch. Ask me to hurt you."

"Fuck," Wentworth grits out. "Please--sir--hurt me--"

Bill twists that nipple hard, and Wentworth yells out loud. Viggo makes another one of those aroused noises and pulls away from Wentworth's dick.

"Bill, Jesus Christ--"

"Shut up," Bill growls at Viggo, and Viggo backs off for now. "I want to hear this son of a bitch begging to get hurt. That's what you want, isn't it? That's what you're missing? Somebody to hurt you like you deserve?"

"Oh, fuck, _please_, sir, please fucking hurt me," Wentworth babbles out. "Sir--fuck, goddamn it, sir, please, need it--"

"I bet you do, bitch," Bill says, giving Wentworth's nipple another twist. Wentworth arches up off the cushion, but his wrist cuffs keep him held down. "I bet you need _everything_. You want somebody to serve, don't you? Somebody who puts you on the goddamned floor and makes you lick the dust off his boots? Somebody who hurts you until you can't stop the tears and then fucks you into the ground?"

Viggo reaches up and puts a hand on Bill's shoulder; he squeezes hard. "Bill, for fuck's sake--hell, for _my_ sake--fuck him."

Bill glances back at Viggo; Viggo's eyes are bright and interested, his lips parted and swollen from the way he was fucking his face on Wentworth's dick. Bill reaches over and grabs Viggo by the back of the neck, drawing him forward into a kiss, and when Bill takes the kiss over, he's not surprised when Viggo just goes with it, letting Bill in, letting Bill have everything he wants. Bill squeezes the back of Viggo's neck and makes himself pull back; he takes a long, deep breath to center himself and focus.

"Bill," Viggo whispers. He leans in and nuzzles that spot under Bill's ear, the one he nailed two weeks ago when he was saying goodbye. It's still a hotspot; Bill shudders and grips Viggo's neck even tighter. "Bill. C'mon. Fuck him. _Please_ fuck him."

Bill's mouth goes dry; it feels like all the blood in his body's rushing to his cock. "Say that again," he whispers, voice hoarse.

"Please fuck him, Bill."

It's not Bill's imagination; that's coming out exactly the way it used to when Viggo said _Please fuck me, sir_. How many times did Bill hear that out of Viggo? How many times has Bill heard that out of slaves?

_Once a goddamned year for the last four years._ Bill closes his eyes. "Again," he murmurs.

"Bill, _please_. Fuck him. Please, c'mon, c'mon, dammit, _please_\--"

Bill brings his mouth down on Viggo's again and kisses him; this time he grabs Viggo by the wrists and holds him down, fucking Viggo's mouth with his tongue and kissing him until Viggo tries to tug his wrists back, whimpering.

"Please," Viggo whispers. "Please--come on, I'll beg, I'll beg while you fuck him, you can tell me when to come--"

With an offer like that, Bill would have to be an idiot to turn any of it down. He looks up at Christian one more time, but Christian's attention is all on Sean; Christian's still fucking him, and Sean's riding him with one hand on his dick--what would that be, two times? three times?--and tears falling down his cheeks. It's beautiful as hell, and Bill's chest tightens up a little--god_damn_, he wants in on that, wants in before Christian changes his mind and it all comes crashing down on all three of them--but he turns back to Viggo, back to Wentworth, and nods.

"Flip him over," Bill says. Viggo nods and helps Wentworth turn over on his stomach while Bill grabs a condom and some lube--as much as he's not feeling nice right now, he's going to get Wentworth at least a little slick. The way he's feeling right now, Wentworth's gonna need it.

Once Wentworth's down on his stomach, Bill pops the lube packet open and spreads the lube over two fingers. He pins Wentworth down by the back of the neck and slides those fingers into his ass, fast, rough, making Wentworth gasp and squirm. He only gets a few seconds of prep, though; Bill pulls away and hands the condom over to Viggo.

"Get it on me," he says. Viggo tears into the packet and reaches down for Bill's cock, fingers splayed out nice and wide, hand rough and callused the way it's always been. He gives Bill's cock a fast stroke, and Bill grabs Viggo by the wrist and holds his hand in place, shoving his hips forward to thrust against Viggo's fingers. Viggo tightens his grip, licking his lips as he watches Bill fucking his hand.

"Jesus fucking Christ," Viggo murmurs, "how the _fuck_ have you been living without this--"

"Hey." Bill snaps it out, and Viggo immediately looks up, meeting Bill's eyes. "Don't go there. Just get the fucking condom on me."

"Yes--" Viggo manages to cut himself off before adding the _sir_, but it's close enough Bill can hear it anyway. He growls under his breath as Viggo rolls the condom down his length, and then he turns back to Wentworth.

He doesn't ask permission. He doesn't ask if Wentworth's ready. Wentworth's tied down and prepped, and he's here for Bill to use, here because he _wanted_ Bill to use him today, and that's all the permission Bill needs.

He drives in fast, putting his back into it, making Wentworth yell out loud. Wentworth's tighter than Bill expected; again, Bill spends half a second wondering if he just hasn't been used much for the last month or more, but now the incredible sensation of being buried inside someone who just wants Bill to fucking hurt him is all Bill can focus on. Bill braces his arms to either side of Wentworth's chest and starts moving, gets a hard, heavy rhythm going as Wentworth groans underneath him.

Viggo kneels up at Bill's side, and he drapes an arm around Bill's shoulders, putting his face close to Bill's ear. "You ready to hear me begging?" he whispers.

"Do it."

Viggo pops the button on his jeans and gets his cock out, jerking himself off nice and slow. "You know how fucking bad I want to be where that boy is right now? Jesus, Bill. You know how good you look when you're being a bastard?"

That actually makes Bill hitch out a laugh, but it doesn't break his rhythm. Wentworth's pushing back against his thrusts now--only an inch or two given the way he's cuffed down, but enough that Bill knows he's into it. He gives Wentworth a harder thrust, more for Viggo's reaction than Wentworth's--both men groan out loud, and Viggo's hand speeds up some on his cock.

"I had Sean's cock in me the other day--I rode him like a fucking racehorse--but Jesus, I miss this," Viggo breathes, so low that not even Wentworth's going to hear him. "I miss the way you used to fucking _break_ me."

"You want to come?" Bill asks, hoarse now, sweat dripping down his back. "You ready to beg for that?"

"Fuck, _yes, sir_," Wentworth gasps. "Please, sir, please, oh _fuck_, please let me come, please, please--"

And Viggo's right there, whispering the same thing in Bill's ear--"_Please_, damn it, please let me fucking come, c'mon, Bill, tell me, please, please, fucking _please_\--"

"Now," Bill snarls, down at Wentworth, over to Viggo, hips snapping forward as he feels Wentworth tightening up hard around him. Wentworth groans, shoves his cock down against the cushion, pants and groans and rocks back against Bill's cock, using the spare inches he can move to the best of his ability.

And Viggo's next, jets streaking forward across Wentworth's lower back, staining the canvas of his tattoos. Bill looks up at him, at his face, and he reaches over to get a hand on Viggo's shoulder, dragging him in to kiss him again. Viggo moans under Bill's lips, and that moan--the little moan that means he'll give Bill anything Bill goddamn _wants_ right now--it's enough to drive Bill over, enough to get him pounding into Wentworth's ass, enough to make him break that kiss and push in as deep as he can, coming with a harsh, rasped growl that leaves his throat aching once it's done.

When he's through, he pulls back, and glances around for towels. Viggo's got him covered--Viggo's already cleaned up, and he pushes Bill gently back into a chair as he takes care of Wentworth, unclipping his cuffs, cleaning off his lower back, finally running his hands all over Wentworth's body until Wentworth's purring underneath him. Viggo curls up with him, not that there's really enough room onto the cushion to do that, and when Wentworth groans softly and tries to roll over, Viggo helps him back onto the floor and signals a couple of staff members to get the cuffs and cushion taken away.

Sean and Christian seem to be finished; Sean's back on the floor, and Christian's resting his hand lightly on the back of Sean's neck. Bill turns to the tray that's still on the table and pops a mini quiche into his mouth. He looks down at Wentworth and sighs; like every trip to Hawaii, he knows he could get more out of Wentworth if he had the time, and he knows that time is something he isn't going to get. He reaches down and rubs his hand over Wentworth's head, scratching gently through the quarter-inch or so of hair he's got. Wentworth hums happily and twists his head around to get more scratching. "Still hungry, boy?"

"Hmm...?" Wentworth blinks his eyes open and looks from Viggo to Bill. "Sure," he says, kneeling up straighter. "What's on the menu, sir?"

All that and he can crack jokes. Bill hopes to God someone's going to take this boy home. "Let me see what I've got," he says, looking over the tray; he's damned if he's not going to get a little service work in this afternoon. He offers Wentworth a bite-sized sandwich, and when Wentworth eats it out of his hand, he tries like hell not to sigh.


	26. A Good Hard Look

Christian did everything right. He did everything by the book. David got a turn with Sean, Karl got a turn--half a dozen other owners got to play with him, too. Sean got the humiliation Bill's been insisting he might actually be into, and even Christian ended up fucking him at the end of Karl's session. Sean looked brilliant and pained and overwhelmed, but he didn't look afraid.

And now he's not talking to Christian--just following orders. Christian drops his head into his hands on Friday afternoon, trying to figure out how to get Sean to say something. Anything.

"Sean--"

"Yes, sir." Sean slides off the couch and kneels down at Christian's feet. "What can I do for you?"

"Tell me what's wrong." Christian looks up at him. "Things have been rough since Tuesday morning. Since the day after Bill came to see you. If you're having second thoughts about coming home with us, tell me--"

Sean winces and looks away. Christian flinches; _yeah, I thought so_. "If it's about Thursday, I'm sorry--I asked for permission to keep you away from the last two Thursday lunches--"

"You--" Sean looks up at Christian, and he looks shocked enough Christian's not sure how to interpret it. "Jesus. Why?"

"I thought you'd been through enough from people like Wenham and Karl--you've already got two bids coming in, it didn't seem like there was any reason to put you through that--"

Sean stands up and runs both hands through his hair, turning away from Christian and pacing a few steps before turning around again. "I was afraid it was something like that. For God's sake--did you miss how much I liked Thursday? How good it was for me?"

He didn't. He remembers how Sean looked, how eager and desperate he was from the minute they walked into the dining room, how much he loved everything. He remembers Sean's mouth on Maggie's boots and how hard Sean was breathing when Maggie made him stop. He remembers the way it felt having Sean riding his cock after Karl fucked him, the way Sean's eyes were as dark as Christian's ever seen them, in spite of the way it must have been hurting him--he'd come twice by then and, after the last time, hadn't gotten any recovery time.

He's stuck for anything to say himself, now, only able to open and close his mouth as he thinks of things to say and discards them. "Is that what you've wanted all along?" he asks, finally.

"Things like yesterday are why I'm here," Sean grits out. "I like working with you. I like Viggo. I like Bill. But why the hell are you so goddamned determined to protect me?"

The shock of anger that rushes through him actually makes Christian turn away for a moment. "If I'd had someone willing to protect me when I first got here--"

"How old were you when you first got here?" Sean snaps. "How old are you _now_\--thirty?"

"I was eighteen," Christian mutters. "I was a slave for seven years."

Sean doesn't say anything for a minute; when Christian looks back at him, Sean's got one arm across his chest, one hand over his mouth; he's looking down at the floor and nodding. He looks back up and crosses his arms. "I thought it might be something like that. Christian, look at me. I'm not fucking eighteen. I'm forty-four. You really think I don't know what I want? That I don't know what I'm doing here?"

"You think age matters when it comes to slavery?" Christian fires back. "So you're forty-four--that means you can actually consent to what's going to happen to you? Once you're out the door, you belong to someone else. And maybe it's not bad, maybe you get something out of it you actually like, but you're dealing with someone who believes he can own you, who thinks he's got the _right_ to own you, and--"

"And that makes everyone who's ever owned a slave bad?" Sean raises his eyebrows. "You're managing all right with Bill. You were about to climb into bed with that kind of deal yourself by bidding on me. Did it make you feel better thinking that you weren't actually going to have your name on the documentation?"

"Oh, fuck you--"

"Did it occur to you that after my years in contracts are up, I'd actually have retirement security with Eclipse? People like me don't get to put away money in savings, in case you can't remember that far back--I live from contract to contract already. I get fucked on my contracts already. The only difference is that when I'm done, when the last owner willing to take someone like me home has moved on to greener pastures, I can still make a living without relying on my ass here. I've already talked to them about it. There's always room in the architecture department."

Christian grits his teeth; no, he hadn't thought about that. About any of that. He exhales hard through his nose and forces himself to get his jaw unclenched. "So--what, then? You want me to have Bill step aside? You want to go to the highest bidder instead of someone who--"

"Someone who what, Christian?" Sean asks quietly. He steps forward and reaches out, puts his hand on Christian's forearm. "Someone who's so afraid of what he might be doing to me that he doesn't see me as a grown man who's not ashamed of what he wants?"

"Is that what you think I've been doing?"

"I think if you were seeing me for who I am, you wouldn't be so goddamned afraid of hurting me. Jesus, Christian, I'm not afraid of being owned or fucked or used or even _broken_. I'm afraid of going this far and finding it's empty, too."

Christian reaches out and cups Sean's face in both hands; he closes his eyes and presses his forehead to Sean's. "I'm sorry," he whispers. "Jesus. I know I'm fucking this up, I'm just--I'm sorry."

"Don't--it's not like that, I'm not blaming you--"

"Give me next week. Give me next week to do better, and when next week's done, tell me if you want me to back out of the auction. I'll understand."

Sean sighs and wraps his arms around Christian's waist. "All right," he murmurs. "We'll do better with each other next week."

"I'll be better next week," Christian promises, and he kisses Sean.

He doesn't hold anything back.


	27. Backup

Bill's up before Christian on Saturday morning, and Christian takes a quick shower before heading downstairs. He checks the kitchen first. Bill's not there, but Amy's doing the dishes, and Christian agrees to let her bring him an omelet when she's finished.

"He's probably still in the dining room reading the morning news," she says. "Want a cup of coffee?"

"No, thanks--I'd take a glass of juice when you bring the omelet out, though."

"Sure."

She's right about Bill. He's in the dining room, empty plate off to the side, e-reader in one hand and coffee mug in the other. He looks up when Christian comes in, and he sets the e-reader down.

"Morning," he says. "How are you?"

"Could be better." Christian takes the seat next to Bill and drums his fingertips on the table for a few seconds. "We haven't been saying a whole lot since last Monday."

"I figured you'd talk about it when you were ready." Christian looks away, and Bill sighs, putting his coffee down, too. "Okay. I didn't want to talk about it, either."

"I'm sorry for the way that scene went off."

"Monday's scene?"

Christian nods. "I'm starting to think I stopped things too early."

"Too early for who?"

"You and Sean." Christian steals Bill's coffee mug and takes a sip; it's cooling, but it's still a comfort to have something to do with his hands, some reason to delay the conversation. "I talked to him yesterday. He's not real happy with me right now."

"I'm sorry." Bill reaches out and squeezes Christian's hand. "What's going on?"

"He thinks I'm going too far protecting him. He had a lot of things to say about slavery, about why he's at Eclipse."

"Did you listen to him?" Bill snaps. Christian frowns at him, and Bill winces. "Okay. Sorry. I'm trying not to--it's been a rough week for me, too."

"I know. I'm sorry about that. I really am." Christian sighs. "I've been so sure I knew better than he did--about himself, about what's good for him, about the things he can't handle--even after seeing him Thursday, I was sure he didn't want the kinds of things that happened to him."

"I take it he said something different," Bill says gently, and Christian nods.

"I keep thinking age doesn't make a real difference to how someone feels about being a slave--hell, I know any number of slaves Sean's age, and most of them are like me. They do it because they've got no choice and they're grateful when it's over. We meet so many people who walk into slavery willfully blind about it--none of them last a week."

"And now it's been three weeks, and Sean's still trying like hell to get everything people want to give him."

"Yeah." Christian sighs again and rubs at his forehead. "Yeah. Last night he said he's not afraid of getting hurt--he's afraid of coming this far and still not finding what he was looking for. Finding that it's empty."

Bill's quiet for a while, and when he starts talking again, he sounds slow, hesitant. "I think... I think you keep getting tripped up by taking everything so goddamned literally. It's never hard for you to top me. I don't remember you telling me it was hard to top Viggo--or any of the other submissive owners you worked with. But you keep looking at Sean and seeing _a slave_. He walked into all this with his eyes open, you know; it's not like he never met owners, never met slaves, never got treated like property before Eclipse. He wanted more of what he'd been getting, and I don't think the people who had him before us were treating him like--"

He stops there, and Christian frowns; he's got a feeling he knows what Bill was going to say. "Like he needed protecting."

"Like he needed protecting from _himself_. You know what yanking him out of that scene with me last week did? It sent a message that what I was doing with him wasn't okay. And you know, being aware of what's going on, being aware of when someone can't handle a scene that's happening--that's a good instinct to have, and God knows you want to pull the brakes if somebody's in trouble, if they're getting lost in a scene and they're not gonna get back out of it without help. But it wasn't like that on Monday. He was right there with me."

Christian shifts in his chair; he doesn't like thinking about it that way, but he's not sure he can deny it, either. "I didn't stop anything on Thursday."

"And how was he on Thursday?"

Christian shuts his eyes and rubs at them with his fingertips, with the pad of his thumb. How was he? He was hot and eager and happy, desperate to please, ready to go as far as Christian was willing to take him. It was all Christian could do, at the time, to keep it to the fuck--to keep from saying a goddamned word to him--but he remembers how Sean looked, remembers how he felt.

"He was utterly fucking fearless," Christian mutters. "He was beautiful."

Bill nods. "Yeah, he was," he murmurs. "I was watching. I was watching both of you."

"I saw you, too. With Viggo and--that guy with the tattoos, I haven't actually met him face-to-face--"

Bill freezes in place for a second; Christian frowns. "Wentworth," Bill says quietly. "Didn't realize you were watching."

"I was kind of distracted," Christian points out, rolling his eyes. Bill doesn't crack a smile at that, which makes Christian frown even more. "I saw you were fucking him and Viggo was right there with both of you. I couldn't make out what Viggo was doing."

"Some dirty talk," Bill murmurs. "Did it bother you seeing me with him?"

"With Viggo?"

"With Wentworth. How much did you see?"

"I don't--how much did you do?" When Bill doesn't answer, Christian runs his hands through his hair. "Look, it's not like I haven't seen you with slaves before. That week we met--the trip to Hawaii every year--"

"You know what's been hard for me this week?" Christian looks at him; this is something else he doesn't want to hear. "It's tough feeling ashamed. Feeling like you _want_ me to be ashamed."

"Oh, Jesus, that was never what I wanted," Christian says, reaching out, reaching out with both arms and pulling Bill forward. It's awkward--they're separated by a corner of the table, and the table's not small--but Christian puts up with having the edge dig into his hip, and he hugs Bill hard. "Fuck. I never wanted you to feel ashamed. This is me--this is my issue with Sean, this is all about what I'm doing wrong, not you. You're the one treating him the way he wants to be treated--"

"I'm not, really," Bill says softly. He strokes his hand over Christian's hair and then--taking care to be gentle about it--pushes Christian away again. "I'm not really being fair to him or to myself. Think about us--how easy have we been going on him? How would we be acting if he were just our new lover and not somebody we were determined to take care of?"

"We have been going easy on him, haven't we?" Christian grimaces. "And that's not what he wants. At all."

"No, it's not. I'd be really fucking surprised if we were still his first choice of owners."

"He said he'd give me the next week--I told him we could be better. That _I_ could be better."

"So start at the top. Let's redo that humiliation scene we were working for." When Christian goes quiet again, Bill sighs. "Or not. Damn it--you know what, it's never bothered me before that there are things you don't want to watch me do, but if we're bringing someone into our home, if this is somebody who's going to be living with us full-time--do you know how hard it'd be to have something I need to hide from you?"

"I wasn't going to say no," Christian says, and for all that he tries to keep the sharpness out of his voice, some of it still comes through. He pauses, takes a breath. "I don't want you having to hide anything from me. I just--I need time, and we don't have it. Fuck."

Bill nods. "We're kind of backed into a corner here time-wise. So if you need to watch somebody push him, if you need to see that happen to know if you can handle it at home--maybe you could bring in somebody else."

"Who would I--"

"Viggo." Bill raps his knuckles on the table. "Viggo's already been saying he thinks we're underestimating Sean. He's got plenty of reason to be there. He can run a kickass humiliation scene if you give him space, and he's somebody you trust. Next best thing to doing it myself."

"I'll set it up," Christian says. "Thank you."

Bill raises an eyebrow at that and takes a sip of his coffee. "You're welcome. For what?"

"Being here. Helping me through this. Not losing patience with me."

"I happen to love you," Bill points out, and the way he says it makes Christian roll his eyes--he's pretty sure if the fight were any less serious, it would have been _I happen to love you, asshole_, or maybe _dickhead_. Christian grins.

"You, too," he says, and with her usual impeccable timing, Amy appears at the kitchen door. She's got a tray in hand, and she brings out Christian's omelet and his orange juice.

"Anything else I can do for you two?" she asks.

"Another cup of coffee, please?"

"Sure thing." She takes Bill's old mug and heads back into the kitchen, and when she comes back, she's got coffee for two. She winks at Christian. "Just in case you changed your mind on that."

"Thanks," Christian says, taking her up on it. Coffee sounds pretty good.


	28. No Holds Barred

Sean starts off the day like any other here--he takes a shower, gets into his uniform, and calls up for coffee; once the coffee arrives, he sits down on the couch, reads over the sports section of the news feed, and waits for Christian to walk in.

It's been a quiet weekend. Jason took the weekend off, and although there are any number of slaves Sean could have spent time with, he ended up mostly keeping to himself. He finds it ironic that after actually confronting Christian about his worry that Christian's been going too easy on him, that Christian's been assuming things that aren't true about Sean's level of commitment and reasons for being here--_now_ he's having second thoughts.

Thursday's lunch was fantastic. David was exactly the way Sean remembered him: so sure of himself that it was easy to just go with whatever he demanded. Karl was every bit as brutal as he was the last time Sean was with him.

But the fact of the matter is he's got nothing to talk to them about. It's all about sex with them, and Sean's not sure whether that's enough now. He's got a feeling Viggo's interested in more than just the sex, that Christian and Bill would make an effort to make Sean a part of their lives and not just turn to him when neither one of them feels like bending over, but the last thing Sean needs is someone who looks like he's struggling between equal parts guilt and arousal, like Christian, or someone who always feels like he's been holding back--both Bill and Viggo give that impression, and it makes Sean utterly fucking crazy.

Maybe the talk he had with Christian will mean something; maybe not. It's times like this that Sean's glad the decision about where he's going is out of his hands. Everyone's got something going for them; everyone's got something that would make it tough to live with them.

The door opens, and Sean looks up. Christian steps inside and nods at him.

"How was your weekend?"

"Fine, sir."

"Anything you want to talk about before we get started today?"

Sean shakes his head. "Nothing we didn't cover last week, sir."

"All right. Viggo's going to be here around four, and I've asked him to push you this time. He didn't tell me what he's planning, but we talked about humiliation and rough play." Christian takes a deep breath, and Sean waits for the next question--_are you up for that?_

When it doesn't come, Sean sits up a little straighter, wondering if he should have started off on his knees after all. Christian answers that question for him, snapping his fingers and pointing at the floor in front of him. Sean scrambles off the couch and crawls over, and Christian grabs a handful of Sean's hair and drags Sean's head backward. Sean laces his hands behind his back and licks his lips.

_That's more like it. God, don't let him freak the hell out about this._

"You don't get to come until he gets here, and if he says you don't get to come while he _is_ here, you don't come until I get back here tomorrow. Clear?"

"Yes, sir!"

Christian adjusts his grip on Sean's hair, sliding his hand down to the nape of Sean's neck before twisting his fingers into the strands again. "You're going to be good for Viggo today, aren't you?"

"Yes, sir!"

"Even if I fuck you and leave you sore?" Christian lets Sean's hair go and drags his fingertips across Sean's throat. "Even if I spend the morning hurting you and you're bruised by the time he gets here?"

"Yes, sir," Sean says; he's hard now, and he licks his lips again. "Sir--can I beg you to--"

"No," Christian snaps. Sean closes his mouth immediately, and Christian takes another deep breath. "I need you to know I'm not angry with you. Nothing I do with you today is meant to be punishment. Understand?"

"Yes, sir," Sean says. He wasn't interpreting anything as anger or punishment, but if Christian's going to be changing tactics with him--and it sure as hell looks like he's going to try--the warning's not a bad thing to have in the back of his mind. "Thank you, sir."

"All right. I still want you to tell me if you're hurting in a way that means injury--but short of that, you don't get to back away from me today." He raises his eyebrows. "Clear?"

"Yes, sir!"

Christian grins down at him. "You don't look intimidated by that."

"Not terribly, sir."

"Good," Christian says sharply. "Get undressed."

As usual, that doesn't take long. Sean tosses his clothes aside and kneels in front of Christian again, hands behind his back. Christian nudges Sean's legs apart with his foot, and Sean looks down--Christian's wearing boots today. They've got laces down the front and a zipper up the side, and Sean can't take his eyes off them.

Christian steps closer and tilts his toe up, resting it lightly against Sean's balls. "You looked fucking hot with your mouth all over Maggie's boots yesterday, boy," he murmurs. "You looked like you were enjoying yourself."

"I was, sir," Sean murmurs back. "May I clean your boots, sir?"

"You really think that's all it takes? You just ask permission and you get whatever you want?"

Frankly, Sean had been thinking that--at least with Christian, it's seemed to be the way things work. He shakes his head, though, because in this kind of scene, _yes_ is never the right answer. "No, sir. Let me earn it?"

"You know where your cuffs are?"

"Yes, sir!"

"Get them. Get a double clip for them. Crawl. And make it fast."

Sean nods at that, too, and goes to all fours, hurrying into the bedroom. _Crawl. And make it fast._ It might be awkward crawling with a hard-on, but Sean sure as hell doesn't mind doing it. He gets into the bedroom, goes to his feet to get his cuffs and the clip out of the dresser, and pauses--if he's got to crawl back, he's going to have to carry all three of these things in his mouth. He clips one end of the double clips to one of the cuffs and stacks the cuffs together; that looks like something he can carry without having to worry about dropping anything. He bites down on them and crawls back out to the sitting area, coming up to Christian's feet and waiting there. He doesn't put the cuffs down, though; he waits for orders.

"Kneel up," Christian says. Sean comes up on his knees, cuffs still between his teeth, and slides his hands behind his back again. Christian takes the cuffs and nods, and he walks around behind Sean.

He puts one hand on Sean's wrists, holding them together, and gets the other hand on Sean's shoulder. Sean gasps as Christian tilts him forward and pushes him down; it's a fast, startling ride--almost a fall, if Christian didn't have a grip on him--to the floor, and his cheek lands with a quick scrape of rug burn. Christian slides his hand to the back of Sean's neck and squeezes hard.

"Stay down," Christian says gruffly; Sean would nod if he could move his head enough to do that. He stays where Christian put him as Christian locks the cuffs on him, faster than he usually does--God, he really might _not_ be going too easy on Sean today. Sean groans out loud as Christian gets Sean's cuffs clipped together, and when Christian lands a hard smack on Sean's ass, Sean jumps, grinding his face into the carpet even more. He groans again; holy fuck, this is all much more like it.

"You really do want every bit of this, don't you?" Christian murmurs. He slides his hand between Sean's legs, and Sean shifts to accommodate him. Christian gives Sean's balls a rough, almost cursory grope, but then moves forward to his cock, squeezing that even harder. The position's awkward, but Christian has no trouble with it. He rubs his thumb over the head of Sean's cock--Sean's not surprised that he's leaking--and draws his hand back, scratching past Sean's balls and rubbing his fingers all the way up Sean's crack.

Sean gasps and tries to push back against Christian's fingertips; Christian gives Sean's ass another hard slap. "Greedy little slut," he mutters. "You think that's what I want? You think I want to put my fingers inside you?"

"Oh, God, sir, _anything_ you want--"

"You think you know me well enough to make that kind of offer?" He reaches up again, gets one hand on Sean's shoulder and the other into Sean's hair, and he yanks Sean upright with one hard tug. "You _trust_ me?"

"I--yes, sir," Sean says, and when Christian's hand slides across the front of Sean's throat, Sean whimpers; this is how David got started Thursday, how David got him hard enough to beg.

"You think you _should_ trust me?"

"I--" Sean pants for air, even though Christian's not squeezing his throat hard enough to take it away--not yet. "I--"

"Yes or no, slut?"

"I don't know, sir," Sean whispers.

Christian draws his hand back and pulls away from Sean; he gets up and walks around in front of him. "Being here is not about _you_. It's not about what you want."

"No, sir," Sean whispers, putting his eyes on the floor.

"I know right now you want to get used. Fucked. Hurt. And what I want is for you to spend some time learning to wait for it." He crouches down and slides his arm carefully around Sean's waist. "Let's get you on your feet."

He helps Sean stand up--Sean probably could have managed it on his own, but he's not going to argue about anything Christian does right now--and pulls him over to the back corner of the room, a few feet away from the mirror. He pushes Sean into it and gets a hand on the back of Sean's neck again. "Stay put."

Sean closes his eyes and settles in, and Christian pulls away from him. "Good boy," he murmurs. He squeezes Sean's shoulder, and then he's gone, footfalls soft on the carpet.

* * *

Sean doesn't know how much time has passed, but when Christian comes back up behind him, he's still fine--no soreness in his shoulders from the cuffs, his legs aren't tired from standing. He's not even bored; he's been spending his time trying to hear what Christian's up to. The floors here don't creak, so he can barely tell when Christian's moving around, and Christian's been quiet--probably deliberately quiet to keep Sean guessing.

Christian pushes him further into the corner, one hand on Sean's hip, thighs pressed up hard against Sean's. "I've got something for you," he growls. "Stay still."

He reaches around to Sean's cock, which isn't hard--hasn't been hard for a while, what with Christian having left him alone. Sean looks down, and he sees what Christian's holding--a set of steel rings connected by a leather strap, a cock bondage piece called a Gates of Hell. Christian's not too gentle as he slides Sean's balls through the largest ring--there's some pressure involved, and it makes Sean grunt--but then they're on, a heavy tugging weight at the base of his cock, and Christian slips his fingers between the rings and starts squeezing.

Sean gasps softly; so much for not being hard. It doesn't take very long for Christian to get his cock up and ready, and when it's fully hard, the rings are tight enough to be uncomfortable. Christian gives Sean's cock a few more strokes, fingers bumping down over the rings, and Sean shudders.

"Good," Christian murmurs. He puts his lips on Sean's shoulder, kisses him briefly, then bites down hard. Sean jumps again, groaning as Christian keeps his teeth locked down against Sean's muscle. When he lets go, Sean wonders if he's left a bruise--he hopes so. It sure as hell hurt enough to leave one.

"That's it for now," Christian says. He gets both hands on Sean's hips and rubs his cock up against Sean's ass--Sean can feel it through Christian's jeans, can feel that Christian's hard, too. "Don't get soft on me while you're waiting for what comes next."

_Shit._ Sean's not sure how he's supposed to stay hard, how long he's supposed to stay hard. He nods anyway. "No, sir."

Christian licks over the bite on Sean's shoulder, and Sean shivers. "Good boy. Stay put."

And it's back to the corner and listening for Christian's footfalls. Sean closes his eyes and rests his head against the walls, wondering when Christian's going to come back.

* * *

Trying to count time like this is useless. Sean starts thinking about what'llcome next--how long has he been at this? Half an hour? Closer to an hour? Christ, for all he knows it's been fifteen minutes.

When Christian comes back, it feels like far less time than the first time he left Sean alone. He starts with a lick across the bitten spot on Sean's shoulder. "You're bruised," he growls, and Sean gasps, shudders. Christian rubs up against him, and Sean pushes back as best he can.

"How's your cock doing, boy?" Christian reaches around and gives it a squeeze. Sean's not completely hard, but he's hard enough to keep those rings from sliding anywhere. It seems to be good enough for Christian, who hums out a pleased noise and drags his cheek across Sean's shoulder. Sean shivers at that, too; Christian doesn't have the instant five o'clock shadow a lot of men do, but there's definitely a scratch of stubble.

"Get those legs apart. Further." Christian steps back, and Sean spreads his legs as far apart as the corner allows. He jumps when Christian reaches between his cheeks--_cold_\--but he quickly realizes Christian's getting him slick. His cock jerks; any leftover distraction or brain-fog from being stuck in the corner dissipates.

"Yes, sir, please--"

But it's not what Sean was hoping for. Instead of getting Christian's cock, there's another sensation of cold, this time an unforgiving one--it takes Sean a minute to realize it's a plug. And it's _heavy_. It's not warming up, either. Sean wonders what it's made out of--glass? Metal? Probably metal; he remembers seeing a few metal plugs in the dresser...

This one's big, too. Sean opens his mouth and tries to relax, but Christian doesn't wait for him to open up for it. "_God_\--"

"Almost there," Christian growls at him. "Little more--" Sean yelps as the plug slides home, and he drops his head back against the wall. "_There_. Full enough for now?"

Sean doesn't answer; from Christian's chuckle, he wasn't expecting Sean to. He reaches up and ruffles Sean's hair.

"Don't drop that."

"I'll try, sir," Sean says tightly; he won't _now_, but the fucking thing weighs a ton, and with his legs spread apart this wide, sooner or later it's going to start being work keeping it in.

"I'll be back."

"Thank you, sir."

Christian pauses, one hand still on Sean's hip. He squeezes gently. "You're welcome, boy," he murmurs.

And then he's gone again.

* * *

The next time Christian comes over, he unclips Sean's wrists. Sean sighs with relief; his shoulders were starting to get sore.

Christian gives him a short but pleasant rub, shoulders down to wrists on both sides, and he keeps hold of Sean's left wrist when he's done. "Come on. I want you on your knees over by my chair."

It surprises Sean that his vision needs a little time to adjust to the light again; it isn't that bright in here, and he didn't have his eyes shut the entire time, but apparently being tucked in the corner for however long it's been was enough.

Christian's got pillows laid out on the floor, and he helps Sean onto his knees. "Present," he says. Sean rests his hands on his thighs, palms up, and he tightens his ass around the plug--if it hasn't gone anywhere yet, it probably won't, he decides, relaxing.

A few minutes later there's a knock at the door, and Sean jerks completely upright. It can't possibly be four o'clock already, that can't be Viggo, unless--maybe he's early, maybe--

It turns out to be lunch; one of the kitchen staff wheels a cart in and presents Christian with a tray of finger foods and a wide saucer for Sean; Christian puts the saucer on the floor and pours a bottle of water into it. The staff member sets the tray in front of Christian's armchair, and Christian takes a seat. "Thank you," he says.

"Of course, sir."

The staff member lets himself out, and Christian turns back to Sean. "Hungry?"

He hadn't thought about it, but now that food's available, his stomach growls. "Yes, sir."

Christian alternates between bites of food for himself and bites for Sean; what interests Sean the most about it is that Christian's doing his damnedest to look impassive. In fact, he realizes, this whole day's been like that--Christian's been leaving him alone, putting him into positions and giving him orders but more or less being stoic. _Is that what he thinks I want?_ Sean wonders. He shakes his head; trying to figure out what Christian's thinking is a waste of time. If today Christian wants Sean to be quiet and follow orders, Sean can do that--and God knows the rough, impersonal treatment is more what Sean's been hoping for than all the overprotective care he's been getting.

After lunch, Christian doesn't put Sean back in the corner; he helps Sean up onto the couch instead, face-down, and he clips Sean's wrists back together. "You've been good today," he says. "I'll make sure to let Viggo know that when he gets here."

"Thank you, sir." Sean squirms down against the cushions, trying to get comfortable; with his cock trapped in the Gates, between the couch and his stomach, he's not sure that's possible.

Christian's not done with him, either; he settles down next to Sean and presses the plug in a little deeper. Sean groans; it's warmed up, but it's still heavy and unyielding. He pushes back against Christian's hand anyway; he still wants more, if Christian's offering.

"This is what I want right now," Christian murmurs. "I want to see you desperate to get something more than this plug inside you; I want to know that when Viggo walks through that door, you'll do whatever it takes to get him to hurt you or fuck you or use you."

"Yes, sir," Sean pants. "Sir, please--I'm _already_ ready to beg, kneel, serve--anything he _wants_\--"

"You think you can stay desperate on your own?" Christian reaches up and grips the back of Sean's neck. "Or do you need me reminding you what a slut you are?"

Sean shivers. "I want to be good, sir."

"I know you do." Christian squeezes, tightening his hand on the back of Sean's neck. "I'll check in on you. If you start getting bored, I'll think of something to occupy you."

Sean's pretty sure he isn't going to get bored, but he nods anyway. "Yes, sir."

"Stay down," Christian murmurs, and he climbs off the sofa and lets Sean go. At this point, Sean's almost getting used to the pattern--a little attention, then being left alone--but he's still not sure what to make of it. _Which is the whole fucking point_, he reminds himself. _Learning to wait._ He takes a deep breath and exhales softly. He's where he's always wanted to be. He can wait.

* * *

Sean doesn't have a clock to look at, but if he had to guess, he'd say Christian checks in on him every half-hour. Sometimes Christian touches him; sometimes he gets orders. Christian unclips his wrists now and again, keeping Sean from getting too sore.

The best of the check-ins comes late in the afternoon; Christian crouches down at Sean's side, grabs him by the hair at the back of his neck, and growls, "Are you still hard?"

He is _now_. He shoves his hips down against the couch, making the rings around his cock shift. "Sir, please--"

"Get off the couch."

Sean's hands are free this time, so he doesn't have much trouble climbing off the couch and sliding to the floor. Christian puts him on all fours, and he drags Sean into the open space across the room, facing the door. "Kneel up."

Sean pushes himself into a kneel, putting his hands in present position. Christian nudges Sean's knees further apart, and much like this morning, he tucks his toe under Sean's balls and rubs his boot against them. "It's time," he says. "Viggo's on his way up."

Sean's heart leaps straight into his throat. _Already?_ He almost laughs at himself for that; all afternoon he's been trying to be patient, but now that the time's come, the wait didn't seem so difficult. "Yes, sir!"

Christian puts his foot back down on the floor. "I figure there's nothing he'd like better than to have you already aching for him once he gets here. Rub up."

Sean looks down at Christian's leg. _Rub up?_ he thinks, unsure what Christian means. Christian's expression doesn't give him much of a hint, but Sean figures he can only mean the obvious. He leans forward, and his cock slips down, resting against Christian's boot. It's the first thing today that's made Sean blush, and he rocks his hips, brushing the Gates over the side of Christian's boot.

"You can do better than that," Christian murmurs. "Show me."

_Better_, Sean thinks. He nods and draws his thigh in, tightening the space between Christian's boot and his thigh--it gives his cock a little less room to move around, which helps. Pushing his hips forward again results in a broken, bumpy slide, and the same rough motion follows when he draws his hips back. It's jarring, but he's focused enough on it now that it's starting to be arousing for its own sake.

He's got a rhythm going by the time there's a knock on the door. "Come in," Christian calls out over his shoulder. He looks down at Sean. "Don't stop."

Sean nods, once, and keeps going, hips shoving forward hard and pulling back a little more slowly. There's a definite metal jingle to the motion, a scrape as Sean's cock rubs over the laces on the top of Christian's boot.

When the door opens, Viggo steps in and has to walk around Christian to get a good look at what Sean's doing. He grunts softly. "Got started without me."

"He's been ready to go all day," Christian says. "But he's all yours."

"Thank you," Viggo murmurs. He comes forward and strokes his fingers through Sean's hair. "Don't stop until I tell you."

Sean nods. His hips are starting to ache from the motion--regardless of having the hang of it, it's still complicated--but he thrusts against Christian's boot again, and Viggo growls softly under his breath. "Oh, I like that," he murmurs. "Is he plugged, too?"

"Plugged and ready."

"Nice." Viggo gives Sean's hair a sharp tug; Sean cries out and immediately clamps his lips together. It didn't hurt that much; it was just startling. "Enough. On your feet."

Sean pushes up, and Viggo grabs his elbow, dragging him the rest of the way. Viggo pulls him forward, into his arms, and he wraps both arms around Sean's waist, one of them moving up his back, the other going down and gliding over his ass. He reaches down and tugs at Sean's thigh, and Sean just goes with the motion, only realizing after the fact that Viggo's trying to get a thigh between Sean's legs. The motions are all awkward, but it's clear Viggo knows what he wants, and he's not afraid to manhandle Sean into place to get it.

His lips come down hard on Sean's, and Sean opens his mouth wide to give Viggo all the access he wants. Viggo thrusts his tongue in, nice and deep, and Sean groans out loud--he's not sure, but he thinks out of all the men and women he's kissed in the last three weeks, Viggo's the one who most _enjoys_ it.

He doesn't stop with just kissing Sean, though; his hands are still exploring, and when he finds the plug, he drags Sean even closer so he can get a grip on the base. Sean yelps and slams up against Viggo, lower lip crashing into Viggo's teeth, but it doesn't matter--Viggo twists the plug anyway, twists it and makes Sean grab onto both his arms for support. "_Fuck_," Sean pants.

"Oh, yeah, that's a good idea," Viggo says, grinning. "Let's do that. Christian?"

Christian's right there, and he helps Viggo get Sean's arms unwrapped. They drag Sean over to the coffee table, where Viggo pushes Sean down, bending him over at the waist. He braces himself on the coffee table, and when Viggo kicks his legs apart, spreads them wider.

"I bet he's had this plug in you most of the day," Viggo says, twisting it again. "You been good, boy?"

"Yes, sir!"

Viggo twists the plug the other way this time. "You sure about that?"

"Yes, sir!"

"I ask Christian, he's gonna tell me the same thing?"

"Yes, sir!"

"What do you think, Christian?"

Christian's silent on the matter. Sean's head snaps up, and he looks back at Christian, brows furrowed. Christian looks completely impassive, but Viggo's grinning.

"Now what's that look for?" Viggo asks. He tugs on the plug, and Sean quickly turns back around, moaning, trying to open up enough to let it go. "Your trainer's not doing what you want? Not saying what you want?"

_Fuck._ Sean realizes, as the plug comes free, that he managed to fuck something up there. Then again, he's not sure whether this was a situation where he could have given the right answer or not.

In either case, Viggo drives his fingers into Sean's ass, and he twists them hard to the left. Sean groans again, knees buckling under them; it's only with a hell of a lot of effort that he manages to stay upright.

"You _feel_ like you want it," Viggo says. "Gonna have to prove it, though. And you're gonna have to be good for me. You ready for that, boy?"

"Yes," Sean moans. "_Please_, sir..."

Viggo draws his fingers out--too fast; Sean yelps again. He sags down a little, trying to catch his breath. He was right, though; Viggo's been holding back.

The slap comes down across his ass so hard Sean cries out, and he locks his arms fast trying not to fall. It works--he finds his footing again--but Viggo doesn't stop. He slams his hand down on Sean's ass again, and again, fast as hell and harder than Sean's taken a warmup in recent memory. Sean sets his teeth together, drops his head between his shoulderblades, and concentrates on taking it.

"You know what I'd love," Viggo says, hand coming down on Sean's ass with a _smack_ that damn near echoes in the room. "I'd love to get a ball-chain flogger and bruise the fuck out of you."

"Unhh--_sir_\--fuck," Sean pants, blinking tears out of his eyes. He barely has enough breath for that much, for sharply grunted words between blows; he doesn't know if he could beg even if he were trying.

"Had enough?" Viggo asks. He pauses, and for a minute, Sean thinks he's going to stop. Instead, he hears Viggo unbuckling his belt, and Sean tries to lock himself even more firmly into position--the way Viggo's been going after him today, this is going to be damn near unbearable.

The first lash across Sean's ass burns like fire, but it's not unbearable. Sean lets himself yell with it; he yells out with every strap, with every blow, gasping for breath when Viggo gives him a little more space between hits. Viggo keeps going until every inch of Sean's ass is burning, until Sean can almost feel the heat radiating off his own skin. He's been trying not to scream, but if that's what Viggo's trying for, he knows Viggo's going to get it sooner or later. Probably sooner.

Viggo finally does stop, and when he does, Sean can hear Viggo panting behind him. He's surprised at how hard he still is, how he can feel the Gates pressing into his cock--he'd have thought that he wouldn't be able to feel anything besides the throbbing pain of his ass right now. "Tell me that doesn't look fucking beautiful," Viggo growls. Sean closes his eyes, feeling something clenching up tight in his chest. It's a good feeling.

"What do you need?" Christian murmurs.

"Lube. Dildo. Something big."

"I'll be back."

Viggo runs his hand up Sean's back; his hand's still a little hot to the touch. A little sweaty, probably from the way he's been holding onto the belt. Sean doesn't flinch away from the sensation; if anything, he wants to get closer to Viggo. He's just trying not to move.

"I'm gonna get you on your knees in front of the mirror. You think you can walk?"

"I--" Sean licks his lips and swallows, then nods. "Yes, sir."

"It's okay to be brave. Just don't be so brave you fuck yourself over." Viggo wraps his arm around Sean's waist. "Lean on me."

Sean does, and he has to lean on Viggo a lot more than he expected. They make their way over to the mirror together, and when Viggo helps Sean down to his knees, Sean hisses in pain--putting his ass on his heels hurts like hell.

"You still want me to fuck you?"

"Yes, sir," Sean growls out; his teeth are gritted, but he means it.

"Gonna have to earn it."

Sean blinks his eyes open and looks up at Viggo; if taking that beating didn't earn it, he's not sure what will. "Sir...?"

Christian's back; Sean can see him in the mirror. He comes over to Viggo with a dark blue dildo in hand, along with a bottle of lube, and he kneels down next to Viggo and Sean and sets both things down. "You want me to do it, or do you--" He stops when he sees the look on Viggo's face, and he scoots back, shaking his head. "Or that."

"Or that," Viggo agrees. He nods down at the lube and the dildo. "You want me to fuck you? Show me how much."

It doesn't take Sean very long to catch on, either; the lube, the dildo, being here in front of the mirror where Viggo and Christian can watch him...

He asks anyway, though, wanting to be sure. "You want me to fuck myself with that, sir?"

"Got it in one," Viggo says. He sits back, giving Sean some space.

Sean sets himself down on his side and grabs the lube. He's not sure how much he needs--he was wearing a plug all day--but the dildo's pretty big, so he drizzles it with lube, ignoring the mess. He's got a feeling Viggo doesn't care if he's messy, and so he grabs the dildo around the shaft, near the base, and he stretches one knee to his chest, reaching around behind himself to get the dildo lined up.

He's tighter than he expected; it's hard even getting the head inside his ass. The angle's kind of awkward, too, being here on his side this way, but the alternatives are pushing up on all fours, for which the stretch would be painful, or lying on his back, which is out of the question right now.

He tries not to look up at Viggo or Christian, but he can feel their eyes on him. The dildo's slippery as hell, hard to hang on to, but he eventually gets it in, hissing as his ass stretches to take it. He pushes it in and keeps on pushing, growling out loud as he gets inch after inch inside his body, and he eventually ends up curling forward so he's got a little more leverage with it.

When it's all the way in, he looks up, and the expression on Viggo's face makes everything worth it. Viggo's eyes are narrowed, lips parted, and he's completely focused on Sean's body, the motions he's been making. When he realizes Sean's looking at him, he nods.

"Don't just sit there," he says, but he sounds hoarse. "_Do it_."

He looks from Viggo to Christian, and Christian's every bit as intent on him as Viggo. It's almost intimidating, having this much attention focused on him, and he grits his teeth against the urge to look away.

He can do this.

He adjusts his grip on the dildo and twists it as he draws it out. He doesn't try to hold back the groan that causes; he just pushes it back in, awkward and slippery as it is. This isn't going to be pretty, and it's sure as hell not going to be cinematic, but he's got an audience, and he's damned if he's going to disappoint them.

He keeps going, grunting softly as he gets used to the angle and the motion. He nearly loses his grip on the dildo and curses at it; this would be a lot easier if he were on his back, damn it. It would also hurt like hell. He grimaces and keeps going, more rough, forceful strokes, moaning and grunting as he makes himself take it.

He's still hard, and the Gates still hurt, but he's almost gotten used to them by now. He looks up at Viggo and thinks about what Viggo said--_it's okay to be brave_.

He rolls over on his back without letting himself think about it too much. _Oh, Christ, fuck, goddamnit..._ He grimaces with the pain, curls forward, but this is a much better angle for keeping hold of the damned dildo. He keeps going, sparing a glance at Viggo.

Viggo licks his lips and shakes his head. "God_damn_, boy," he growls. He comes forward and wraps his hand around Sean's cock; Sean yells out and loses his grip on the dildo. Viggo pushes his thigh up against it, pressing it back in, but that rubs Viggo's thigh against Sean's ass, too, and Sean reaches down and digs his fingers into the carpet, still yelling.

"Yeah, _fuck_ this noise," Viggo says, and he kneels up and unbuttons his jeans. Christian's right there with him, condom in hand, and as soon as Viggo's got his pants down, Viggo grabs the packet, tears into it with his teeth, and rolls it quickly down his shaft. He reaches down and pushes Sean's legs further apart--God, even _that_ hurts--and holds onto the base of the dildo. He's slower drawing it out than Sean expected, but Sean's taking enough pain for him as it is, and it's about to be more--a lot more. He pushes Sean's knees to his chest, and Sean's eyes sting with tears.

"You still with me?" Viggo asks, reaching down to Sean's chest. His hand's gentle over Sean's left pec, and Sean nods his agreement, nods and licks his lips. He lets his grip on the carpet go and reaches up--reaches around his leg, which is fucking annoying, but he manages--and puts his hand over Viggo's. Viggo grins down at him, teeth bared, and Sean finds himself, almost impossibly, grinning right back.

When Viggo pushes into him, Sean tries to come up off the ground--he can't, can't move, but the urge to go somewhere is too strong to resist--but Viggo just leans down with that hand on Sean's chest, pushing him gently back into the ground. Sean catches his breath and tightens his grip on Viggo's hand, moving it up to his wrist, where it's easier to hold on. "Good," Viggo murmurs down at him. "Hold on, boy. Hold on to me."

And Sean does. He holds on while Viggo starts moving, holds on as Viggo drives into him with sharp thrusts that leave Sean crying out on the floor. It's agony, but it's so good Sean can taste it. He's never had anything like this--no one's been like this with him, never, and he gives himself up to it, throws himself into the feeling and lets himself get lost. The pain's just another sensation, just another feeling to give himself over to, and as time slips away from him, too, Sean stops thinking about anything but being here, being with Viggo, this moment, right now.

Viggo makes a noise, then, deep in his chest, and Sean looks up at him--his eyes have been open, but he hasn't been looking _at_ anything until now. He can see it immediately--Viggo's ready--and he licks his lips and forces a word out. It's the right word; he needs to say it.

"Please--"

Viggo growls out a string of curses, and his hips hitch forward hard. He groans as he comes, burying his cock deep inside Sean over and over, and Sean tilts his head back, gasping. Viggo bends his head down--he can stretch this far, but just barely--and licks up the center of Sean's throat. Sean shudders in response; it feels like being claimed.

When Viggo's done, he collapses on top of Sean. Sean whimpers and tries to move his legs; Viggo grunts and manages to roll to the side. Sean hisses as he puts his legs back down, and suddenly there's Christian, curling up on Sean's other side, stretching an arm across Sean so he can drape it over Viggo, too. He tucks his face in against Sean's neck, and Sean closes his eyes, panting to catch his breath.

He hurts--_everything_ hurts--and his cock aches with a need to come that he knows he isn't going to get to act on, and he doesn't remember the last time he felt this good. He nuzzles against Viggo's shoulder, turns his head and rests his forehead against Christian's, and just breathes.

"Thank you," he whispers. Christian's arm tightens around them both. "God--thank you. Thank you."

"You're welcome, boy," Viggo murmurs, nuzzling the back of Sean's neck. "God, you're amazing. Thank _you_."

It takes both Christian and Viggo to get Sean into bed--face down--and Viggo stays with Sean while Christian gets some kind of soothing gel for Sean's ass. Sean falls asleep for a while, and when he wakes up, Christian gets the Gates of Hell off him at last.

"You were so good during all that," Christian murmurs. "Can you still wait to come until tomorrow?"

Sean nods; much as he'd like to come, he's feeling pretty fucking sated. He grins at Christian, and when Christian kisses him, Sean kisses back, still feeling sleepy and eager to please.

Christian's late leaving; he lets Viggo stay late, too. Sean doesn't mind it when they go. He stretches and stays in bed for a while, grinning ear-to-ear; he probably looks like the cat who got the canary. Or maybe he's the canary, and maybe he doesn't mind so much, the cat and its claws.


	29. Full Throttle

The text message comes in around 7:00. Bill glances down at his phone.

_He'll be home any second--we left at 6:30. Don't say I didn't warn you._ It's from Viggo.

Bill's eyes go a little wide; given the time, given how long it takes Christian to get home, Viggo's probably right. He has just enough time to flip on the media screen to check on the GPS in Christian's phone when he hears the door to the garage bang open and slam shut again, and he jumps to his feet--he does _not_ want to be sitting on the floor when Christian comes in, not if Christian's in a mood that made Viggo want to warn him about it--just as Christian walks into the living room, eating up the space in long, fast strides.

Bill's been dealing with Christian coming home in moods like this all month long, but this is different. Christian doesn't even say hello; he reaches out and grabs Bill by the back of the neck, and he kisses him hard. Bill grunts; Christian's forcing his mouth open, not even giving him the room to open up on his own.

He tries to get an arm up, around Christian's waist, but Christian grabs him by the forearm and shifts his other hand to Bill's other arm, pushing him back. Bill looks into Christian's eyes--dark, focused, narrowed to slits. He's tempted to ask _are you okay?_, but Christian's not in the kind of mood where he'd answer a question like that. He keeps his mouth shut.

Christian's moving him across the room now, and it takes most of Bill's concentration to stay upright. When Christian gets him to the wall, he slams Bill into it, and Bill grins, laughs out loud, despite himself. It went well, then. It went _really_ well. If he can get Christian to admit it went really well, they'll be completely in business.

"What the fuck are _you_ so happy about?" Christian growls. He pins Bill's arms to the wall and shoves a thigh between Bill's legs; Bill's not hard yet, but the pressure against his balls makes him wince.

"You coming home like this," Bill gets out. "Good day at the office?"

Christian growls, low in his throat, and kisses Bill again. He stretches Bill's arms out over his head, and the rocking pressure against Bill's crotch comes and goes in brief, insistent pulses. It makes Bill wince even as it's getting him hard; this is going to hurt tonight.

But he can handle that. He bites down on Christian's lower lip, which makes Christian snarl at him and draw back, looking right into Bill's eyes. Bill holds that gaze and smirks; Christian pushes Bill's wrists together and grabs him by the throat, eyes narrowing.

"_Nice_," Bill says. He tugs hard against Christian's grip; even with Christian having all the leverage, he could get free if he really wanted to. He doesn't take it that far. "Thought you'd just come home and get your bitch up against the wall, huh?"

Christian's eyes widen for a second, but he doesn't loosen his grip on Bill's throat. His mouth drops open, and he licks his lips. Bill pushes that button harder.

"That what you want? Huh? You want to make me your bitch for the night?"

Christian grips Bill's throat a little tighter--still not enough to be dangerous, but enough to send a clear message, a signal to shut up. Bill laughs, even though it's harder to get words out this way.

"You just gonna let your bitch run his mouth off like this, or you gonna try to shut him up?"

That breaks through Christian's resolve, such as it was; he grabs Bill and spins him around, slamming him chest-first into the wall. Bill rears back just enough to keep his head from slamming into it, too, and Christian gives him the space to do that.

"C'mon," Bill growls. "Right here. Shut me up."

Christian pins Bill's arms behind his back and presses in close. He bites at the back of Bill's neck, and Bill stretches his fingers out to see if he can get a grip on Christian's cock. The angle's too awkward, but his knuckles brush against it; Christian drives his hips forward, rubbing his cock up against Bill's hands, against his ass.

"Come on, _come on_, Christian, shut your bitch up--"

"Don't you fucking call me Christian unless I _tell_ you you can call me Christian." Bill laughs; _finally_. Christian reaches up and grabs Bill by the hair, though, pinning the side of his face to the wall. "You think that's funny? Gonna laugh through all of this?"

"Maybe."

Christian flattens him against the wall, pressing his entire body up against Bill's back, hands landing to either side of Bill's shoulders. "You _really_ want to push me when I'm like this?"

"You really think I'm afraid of you when you're like this?"

That doesn't get an answer, but Christian pushes away from the wall, grabbing Bill by the arm and dragging him down the hall, to the stairs. He shoves Bill ahead of him, and when they get to the bedroom, he grabs the back of Bill's shirt and bends him over the bed, kicking his legs apart.

"C'mon," Bill says hoarsely. "Gimme."

"You want this?" Christian pushes up against Bill's ass; he grabs one of Bill's shoulders and yanks him back, cock pressed tight between them. "That what you want?"

"_Yeah_," Bill growls. "Come on."

"You can beg better than that, bitch. You want this?" He thrusts up against Bill again, and Bill groans. "Want it?"

"C'mon, Christian--"

Christian draws back and slams his hand down against Bill's ass; Bill jumps, yells out in surprise. "Did I _say_ you could use my name?"

Oh, God, if he was like this with Sean today, if he came home in a mood this good, things must have been _fantastic_ with Viggo. "No," Bill says.

"No--"

"--_sir_," Bill fills in. "No, sir, you didn't."

"Better. Get on the floor."

Bill turns around and drops to his knees; he's not surprised when Christian gets his belt undone and his jeans shoved down to his thighs. He licks his lips when Christian gets his cock out--Christian groans out loud, gives it a few strokes, and Bill wonders just how long he's been this hard--did he fuck Sean at all today, or was that just for Viggo?

"You want this?"

"Yes, sir!"

"Show me." Christian grabs Bill by the back of the head and pulls him forward; Bill opens wide and lets Christian slide his cock into Bill's mouth, knowing full well it's going to leave him hoarse and choking.

He's not far off. Christian holds him in place, and he fucks into Bill's mouth like he doesn't give a damn what Bill gets out of it. Bill puts his hands up, gets them on Christian's thighs to keep him from gagging Bill too badly, and it's a struggle for a while, Christian's strength against Bill's. They're both pretty strong, and right now they're both pretty determined, and on Bill's end, at least, it gets harder and harder to struggle as he gets more and more turned on. This is his lover; this is the man he loves coming after him like it's a matter of fuck or die. Orientation aside, that's pretty goddamned hot.

Christian pulls away first, panting hard and clutching at Bill's hair. "Jesus," he gasps.

Bill coughs, reaching up to massage his throat. "'Bout that, yeah," he grunts. "Work was good?"

"You were right." Christian helps Bill to his feet. "I'll show you his welts tomorrow. Right now--"

"Yeah," Bill says, grinning ear-to-ear. "Me, too. C'mon."

They take the few seconds needed to get their clothes off, and Bill climbs onto the bed first, Christian climbing on top of him. Bill draws his legs back, and Christian puts his hands on Bill's thighs, crawling down to lick over Bill's cock, over his balls. Bill drops his head back against the bed and moans; Christian keeps going, working over Bill's balls with hot, rough, sloppy licks, making Bill squirm underneath him. It's intense, incredibly pleasant, but just this side of threatening--a lot like Christian most of the time, which makes Bill chuckle again.

Christian tilts his head up, both eyebrows raised. "Jesus, don't _stop_," Bill pants. "Want you so much--c'mon--"

"Hold your legs up for me." Christian waits until Bill's got hold of them again and then draws away, going to the nightstand for a condom, for lube. Bill's a little relieved--for a minute there he wasn't sure he was going to get either--but the relief's short-lived, since in spite of the fact that the red's gone out of Christian's eyes, he's still in a hurry. He pushes three fingers into Bill's ass, all twisted together, and when Bill curls up and groans, Christian just shoves his fingers in deeper.

"_Shit_\--"

"Don't tell me you can't take this," Christian says, one hand going back to Bill's thigh. "Come on, open up--" He smacks Bill's thigh hard, making Bill grunt, startling him enough to loosen up just a little. "That's it. C'mon."

"You really _are_ done taking it easy," Bill pants, grinning.

"Believe it," Christian says, driving forward until Bill can feel Christian's hand pushing hard against his ass--unless Christian's planning on fisting him, that's as open as Bill's going to get.

Christian draws his hand back and gets the condom on, and he climbs up on Bill again. Bill's glad he's still pretty flexible; most guys his age can't bend like this without paying for it hard afterwards. Christian doesn't give him much time to reflect on that, though, because he's got his cock pressed up against Bill's asshole, and he pushes in, slow and steady. Slow enough Bill ends up clutching at the blankets, enough to make him a little nuts--this is _not_ the pace he was expecting.

"You waiting for an engraved invitation or what?" he pants. "C'mon, dammit--"

"Hold still," Christian says, smirking down at Bill. "Got you right where I want you. No rush."

"No rush--you _bastard_," Bill pants, hands scrambling up to get a hold of Christian. Christian grabs Bill by the wrists and shoves in harder--he was almost there already, but the rough push at the last minute makes Bill groan out loud. "God, yeah," he moans. "Just like that, c'mon, c'mon..."

Even Christian's not coordinated enough to keep Bill's wrists pinned down in this position. He draws back and braces himself on the bed, rocking his hips with a nice steady rhythm. It's still nothing like what Bill's been wanting, and he growls in frustration.

"Come on," he says, getting one of his hands up to the back of Christian's neck. "You come after me like that and you think I'm not going to want you to break me open? _Fuck me_."

There's a gleam in Christian's eyes after Bill says that, a feral edge to his grin, and he picks up the pace, going in harder, _deeper_ somehow, finally dragging Bill back to the edge of the bed so he can stand up and hold Bill down while he pounds into him. Bill gets a hand onto his cock and starts jerking himself off, and Christian reaches down, too, wrapping his fingers around Bill's. Bill tilts his head back, groaning loud and hoarse, and Christian slams in hard, just right, just what Bill needs to go up and over, cock jerking under both hands, come streaking their fingers as Bill's vision whites out and he sucks in air like a man who's been drowning.

"Almost there," Christian says, squeezing Bill's hand and his cock. Bill moans, curling up against the sensation, and Christian gasps out loud, hips hitching, losing their rhythm completely as he comes. He gets one last rough push in, and then he sags against Bill and the edge of the bed, panting.

Bill manages to get untangled from Christian, rolling over on the bed to make room for him, and Christian collapses, curling up against Bill's side.

Bill hums happily and pulls Christian in for a hug, ignoring the mess they're making. "Good day at the office?" he murmurs.

Christian just laughs, nuzzling against Bill's shoulder. "Yeah."


	30. Between The Two

The fact that Sean can move around--it hurts, but he can definitely walk, sit, stand, even kneel--is almost disappointing after how good yesterday afternoon was. He was pretty boneless for most of the evening, and too sore to do more than hobble over to the media screen and call up for a late dinner.

Still, he doesn't let himself stay disappointed for long. He gets up, showers, relaxes under the spray for a while. If Christian was willing to let Viggo go after him like that, if he was willing to let David and Karl have him last Thursday, it opens the floor to all kinds of things.

He's curious what Christian's going to be like on his own now. He's even more curious what Bill's like if Christian's giving him free rein.

When Christian arrives, Sean's seated on the couch, and he slides carefully to the floor, kneeling up with his hands palm-up on his thighs. "Good morning, sir."

"Good morning, Sean." Christian looks Sean over head-to-foot and raises an eyebrow. "How are you feeling today?"

"Sore, sir," Sean says, but he's grinning as he says it. Christian grins back at him.

"With the way you're looking at me, I'm guessing you're not too sore to see Bill today."

"Not at all, sir."

"Good." Christian grins down at him. "He'll be here at noon."

"Sounds fantastic, sir. Is he looking for anything in particular today?"

"I promised him a look at your welts. How are they this morning?"

"Healing up fine, sir."

"Stand up for me."

Sean gets to his feet slowly, and Christian nods as he does. "Drop your pants," he says.

Easy enough; Sean unties the drawstring and lets his uniform pants puddle around his ankles. Christian walks around behind him and strokes his hand down Sean's ass. Sean grunts softly; he can take it, but that doesn't mean there's no pain involved. Christian takes a hard look at Sean's expression, and Sean has just enough time to think _he's gauging me_ before Christian lands a sharp smack to Sean's right ass cheek, and Sean jerks forward, eyes slamming shut.

Okay, maybe he's not as recovered as he thought he was.

When Sean gets his eyes open again, Christian's--well, he's smirking, damn it. Sean's torn between thinking it looks damn good on him and wondering if Christian's always this much of a bastard when he isn't treating someone with kid gloves. _Someone who really _likes_ hurting people,_ he remembers Jason saying. He's starting to believe it now.

"Bill would kill me if I got you too sore to touch before he gets here. Looks like we're just going to have to hold off for a couple of hours. I _think_ I can stand that." Sean's leaning toward "looks damn good on him" for the smirk; he grins at Christian. "Order up tea service for one; let's go over some more service work. You might hurt a little kneeling like this, but it shouldn't be too bad."

"Yes, sir. Should I dress?"

"No. In fact, get yourself _un_dressed, and put your clothes away this time."

"Yes, sir."

Once his clothes are put away and the order for tea's been entered, he comes back out to the living room and kneels down at Christian's side. Christian's reading again, but he stretches out a hand and rests it on the back of Sean's neck.

It's not long before there's a knock at the door. Sean gets up automatically to answer it, and the girl delivering the tea doesn't bat an eyelash at Sean's state of dress--not unusual here, after all.

"Thank you," he says as she hands the tray over. It's surprisingly heavy; the teapot is ceramic, as is the single cup and its saucer. There's also a plate full of tiny two-bite scones, as well as some jam and clotted cream.

"Let us know if you need anything else. Shall I get the door for you?"

It's probably better than kicking it shut, so Sean nods. "Yes, please. Thank you."

"Of course." She nods to him, he returns the nod, and she lets herself out, closing the door behind her.

He turns back to Christian. Christian sets his e-reader down and looks up at Sean. "Have you read up on tea service at all?"

"No, sir," Sean admits. "What should I do?"

"Come over here." Christian stands up and points out a spot just in front of where Sean was kneeling earlier. "You want to be within reach of your owner, but not so close he'll run into you when he's taking tea. Kneeling down like this might be tricky. I'll spot your tray the first time."

Sean wants to protest that he doesn't need the help, but the way his ass feels, maybe it's better if he takes Christian up on it. _Don't be an idiot. He didn't give you an option. There's a reason for that._

Fortunately, Sean doesn't lose his balance as he gets to his knees. He goes down to one knee first, then the other, and he shifts very carefully until he's in the right spot on the carpet. He looks up at Christian, who gives him a rough pat on the head. "Nice job."

"Thank you, sir."

Christian sits down and turns partway in his chair so he can face Sean. "Tea service varies wildly. You'll find there are people who expect you to be entirely silent and carry out tea service with perfect etiquette, and then there are people who basically want you to be living furniture. There are owners who want nothing more from tea service than a boy who can hold up a heavy serving platter for an hour or so without needing a break."

Sean glances down at the tray; an hour suddenly seems like a very long time. He looks back up at Christian with his eyebrows raised. Christian shakes his head.

"Not today," he says. "Go ahead and put the tray down." Sean sets the tray on the coffee table. "And get a look at everything--there are a lot of options."

There are, now that Sean's looking. There's milk, lemon, and several kinds of sweetener in different tiny jars, each a different color. There's a single set of silverware to go along with the single teacup and saucer, but beneath the saucer is another plate. It goes a long way toward explaining why the tray was so heavy. Sean wonders how heavy service for two is.

"Like I said, tea service varies wildly, so we'll start with the baseline--ask about each item in sequence, and add 'sir' or 'ma'am' as appropriate. So you'll start with the tea itself."

It's not as difficult or complicated as Sean was afraid it might be. Given that it's a sort of service where, by definition, the etiquette involves explicit orders, he imagines it's fairly difficult to screw up unless one's making assumptions or getting ahead of oneself.

He successfully assembles a cup of tea for Christian--one dollop milk, two tiny spoonfuls of sugar--and stirs the milk and sugar in before handing the cup and its saucer to Christian. He manages fine with the scones, too, carefully adding clotted cream to one of them and setting it on a plate, which he holds out for Christian until Christian's ready to take it.

Christian sets his tea down and takes the scone off the plate. "This is the part of tea service I like best," he says, and to Sean's surprise, Christian holds the scone out to him. Sean takes a small bite, trying to be as neat as possible, but he gets a bit of cream on his upper lip. Christian brushes his fingertip across Sean's lips.

The scone's wonderful--orange and cranberry--and Sean licks his lips when he's finished with the bite. "Thank you, sir."

"You're welcome, boy." Christian grins down at him, and between the two of them, they polish off most of the scones with no difficulty.

When they're finished, Sean collects the dishes and sets the tray outside the door. He comes back over to Christian's chair, but Christian stops him when he starts to kneel down again.

"Let's keep you off your welts for the next hour or two. Do you want to be on the floor, the couch, or the bed?"

"Depends on if I'm doing anything other than lying there, sir."

Christian grins. "I don't have any plans for you. I want you rested for Bill's visit."

"Doesn't matter to me, then, sir, as long as I'm in reach if you need anything."

"Good boy. Let's put you on the floor for now."

The floor's comfortable enough, and having Christian nearby makes it a fairly good place to be. The only problem with it is the fact that Christian's wearing boots today--the same boots he had on yesterday--and after a while with nothing to do but stare at the carpet and look around at whatever else is at carpet height, Sean ends up staring at Christian's boots and thinking about what he's been getting to do with boots lately.

Christian notices him looking and slides his fingers through Sean's hair. "Been enjoying the boot scenes?"

"Yes, sir," Sean murmurs.

"Bill's going to love that. There's a lot more we could do with boots."

Sean's eyebrows shoot up; he has vivid memories of a number of great videos involving boots. Christian gives him another rough stroke and ends it with a squeeze to the back of his neck.

"Not now. Calm down."

"Yes, sir," Sean murmurs. He settles down, but he keeps looking at Christian's boots, thinking about what it'd be like licking come off them. He squirms against the carpet, spreading his legs a little.

He's still thinking about boots when there's a knock at the door. He starts to get up, but Christian grabs him by the back of the neck and shoves him back down to the floor. Sean ends up blushing at that; he's not sure whether the blush is for his assumption or Christian's offhand rough treatment, but it's not a bad thing.

"Hey there," Christian says.

"Hey there yourself," Bill responds. "How are you two doing today?"

"See for yourself."

As tempted as Sean is to look up, Christian put him down on the floor for a reason; he stays put. Bill walks around him, though, and Sean gets a good look at Bill's boots. They're a pair he hasn't seen before, black leather with two straps across the toes. They buckle, but it looks like it's just decorative.

Bill crouches down at Sean's side and slides his hand down over Sean's ass, whistling. Sean hisses and pushes up into the touch, which makes Bill laugh.

"That must have been fun to watch," he says. "Doesn't look like it was too much for you, either." He pinches at one of Sean's sore spots, and Sean groans, trying to get some friction going between his cock and the carpet--he's only half-hard, so it's more awkward than effective. "I bet you'd beg for bruises on top of those if you thought you could get them, wouldn't you?"

"Yes, sir!"

Bill gives Sean's ass a few light smacks--nothing that really hurts, but it's more than enough to get Sean hard. He shifts his legs some more and lifts his hips up, trying to get more comfortable.

"Really like that, don't you? Hurting for somebody?" Bill keeps going, more light smacks like the first few. "Man, I'd like to play with that."

"Careful," Christian says, and Sean presses his face into the carpet. _Damn._ "I want him mostly clean for Thursday."

"Awww. There are lots of people who'd like to see him bruised at one of those lunches."

"Brings a lower bid price, though. People think of slaves who are bruised at lunch as 'used'."

"Hmph." Bill slides his hand up and tangles his fingers into the hair at the nape of Sean's neck. "Bad for the trainer's rep, then?"

"Unfortunately."

"Well, let's think of something to do with him that won't leave too many extra marks for Thursday."

"Oh, I can think of all kinds of things."

"Me, too." Bill chuckles. "Okay, boy. Can you kneel?"

"Yes, sir."

Bill lets him go, and Sean climbs back into a kneel, hissing again when his ass hits his heels--for all that those slaps were light, they certainly reminded his ass of the beating he took yesterday. Bill stands up and walks over to Christian, and the two of them look Sean over; Bill licks his lips, and Christian's just quietly eyeing Sean all over. Bill turns to Christian and raises his eyebrows.

"You remember that thing we did with James...?"

"I was just thinking about that."

_Thinking about what?_ Sean does his best to keep his expression calm, but whatever it is they're talking about, he's interested.

"Want to do it here on the couch or--no, wait, screw that, my back's not up for that. Bed."

"Bed's fine," Christian says. He grins down at Sean. "Come on."

Christian starts taking his clothes off as soon as they get to the bedroom; Sean's a little surprised, given that they've usually been a little more elaborate about things in the past. There's always been some warmup. But this time around, Christian climbs into the bed and stretches out on his back, naked. He starts stroking his cock as Bill gets a condom and some lube out of the nightstand, and by the time he gets over to Christian, Christian's fully hard.

"You're gonna want to climb up there with him," Bill says. "Go on." And with that, he starts taking off his clothes, too.

Sean climbs up and watches Christian roll the condom on--they don't even want him to do that? He's definitely not sure what's going on here. Maybe they're just looking to get the sex out of the way so they can move on to whatever they're _really_ thinking about.

Bill climbs up with Sean, and he's got the lube, so when he shoves Sean into the right position--straddling Christian's thighs--and then gets the lube open and starts prepping him--Sean's not surprised by that.

It's thick lube this time, though, a lot of thick lube, and that does surprise Sean. He's sore from yesterday, but not that sore.

"Bend over," Bill murmurs, and Christian reaches out to pull Sean down. Sean settles in on top of Christian, and when Bill's done prepping him, he helps Christian get his cock lined up and slide in. Sean blinks a couple of times--all right, they're moving him around, they're just pushing him instead of asking permission, but if this is Bill with the gloves off, Sean's not sure what--

"I think he's confused," Christian says, grinning. He rocks his hips up, and sure, that feels good, but with so much thick lube, Christian's almost slippery enough to come out on his way back down. Sean shoves down hard, which gets Christian back in all the way; Christian leans up and kisses him. Sean kisses back, but Christian's right--he's still confused.

"Won't be for long," Bill promises. And then he reaches down to Sean's ass and rubs at it, rubs across Christian's cock where it disappears into Sean's ass. Sean goes still; Bill keeps going, keeps rubbing, and when he lifts Sean up, Sean finally has a clue to what's going on--a clue that's confirmed when Bill draws Sean back down, his thumb pressed to Christian's cock, sliding Sean back down over both of them.

Christian hums something appreciative; he looks past Sean to Bill and grins. "We're supposed to be nice about this."

"I'm _being_ nice," Bill growls. He draws his thumb back, and there's a pause: Sean guesses he's adding more lube. Christian groans first, and Sean wishes he could see what Bill's doing--but then he feels two fingers pressing between his body and Christian's cock, and he takes a deep breath as Bill works them inside him.

Christian's not the biggest guy who's ever fucked Sean; Sean's had some pretty impressive ones over the years. What Bill's doing, though--what Sean thinks Bill's about to do--he's never done that before.

He reaches down and gets his arms around Christian's shoulders; Christian slides his arms down Sean's sides, all the way down to his ass. "Nice," Christian murmurs. "I can help hold him open if you need me to."

Bill crooks his fingers. Even with all the lube, it's a tight fit, and Sean can't imagine how anything else is going to fit inside him. Bill's still moving his fingers, though, and he twists them, stretching Sean open just a little wider. Sean gasps, cock jerking against Christian's stomach. "Oh, God, please--"

"Please, huh?" Bill reaches out and puts a hand on Sean's shoulder, drawing him down further on Christian's cock and Bill's fingers. "You know where we're going with this? You know what you're begging for?"

"I--yes, sir," Sean says, groaning as Bill moves his fingers in and out. Christian squirms underneath him, and Sean wonders what that must feel like to him--he can't even imagine.

"Okay," Bill murmurs. "Hold him for me."

Christian reaches up and puts his arms around Sean's back; Bill comes forward, straddling Christian's legs, too. Sean looks into Christian's eyes, and Christian tilts his head up and kisses Sean's forehead; Sean grins in response. The contrast between that kiss and what Bill's about to do is a little on the absurd side, but he likes it.

And then all distractions, all thoughts about things other than what they're doing, go out the window. Bill's got his cock at Sean's opening, and he rocks Sean forward, moving him slightly up on Christian's cock, and then there's a hard, aching, overwhelming _push_\--"_God_," Sean gets out, nearly arching away from Christian.

Christian holds him down, though, and when Bill pushes deeper, Sean drops his head to Christian's shoulder, panting. It's too much. He can't do it--there's no way it'll work--

Bill pushes in again, harder this time, and Sean blunts his yell against Christian's shoulder. Christian nudges Sean gently. "You can do this," he growls. "You can take this. I've seen what you can do. Come on."

Sean nods--he feels Christian lean up and nod at Bill--and this time it's a long, slow, nearly-unbearable glide, one that's deep and aching and a little bit awkward, what with trying to get Bill close enough, but it works, to Sean's shock.

It works, and then he's got Bill and Christian inside him all at once, both of them curled around him, Bill's body leaning down to lean up against Sean's back.

Sean can't talk--he moans, instead, the sensation so intense he can't even think straight anymore. Bill squirms behind him, and just the barest hint of rocking pressure makes Sean gasp. Christian strokes a hand through Sean's hair, and Bill slides his hand up Sean's side.

"We got you," Bill whispers. "C'mere. Up a little, boy. There. We got you."

Christian helps lift Sean up, and Sean groans again as Bill slips an arm under his chest. "You feel so good," Bill murmurs, bending his head down, nuzzling Sean's shoulder. Sean can't help himself--he squirms, back and then forward, trying to get a little motion going between the three of them.

Bill growls softly and gives Sean what he wants--a slow, tight thrust, so tight that even with all the lube, it's nothing like a glide. Sean gasps, hands coming back to Christian's biceps, and he holds on tight.

This time, though, Bill doesn't stop. He keeps moving, panting softly in Sean's ear, and the way this feels--full and desperate and so incredibly fucking dirty that Sean can barely stand it--Sean wants to tell Bill how _good_ this is, how unbelievable, wants to promise Bill _anything_ in exchange for how he's making Sean feel right now.

And then Christian reaches up and slides a hand over Sean's throat, and Sean's eyes go wide. He can still breathe, Christian's hand isn't doing anything to stop him, but this--_right here_, this, now--this is everything out of his fantasies. Everything he's been looking for for the last twenty-five years. He licks his lips, drawing in a deep breath, because--_God_, yes, he needs to say it, needs to tell them, he needs to make sure Christian _knows_\--

"--please," Sean whispers. "Sir--yes, God, please--_Master_\--"

Christian's eyes go wide, and his grip tightens hard on Sean's throat. He grits his teeth together, and his other hand goes down to Sean's hip, strokes over it to reach Bill's. "_Go_," Christian growls.

"Gone," Bill answers, like it's a call-and-response, like they've said this to each other enough times to know instantly what it means. And Bill does; he speeds up, moves in fast and deep and harsh, until Christian's eyes slam shut, until Christian's grip on Sean's throat really _does_ choke off his air--and even that's all right, even that's something Sean wants to give Christian right now.

It's Christian first. He groans through clenched teeth, hips moving just the barest fraction of an inch against Bill and Sean's weight, and Sean feels him come--a fast, almost-desperate series of pulses deep in Sean's body.

"Jesus _fuck_," Bill rasps out, and then he comes, too, groans coming out harsh and guttural as he gives Sean the last few hard, punishing thrusts.

Christian lets Sean's throat go, and Sean gasps for air--but he gasps for another reason entirely when Christian gets his hand between them and wraps his fingers around Sean's cock. "Come for us," he whispers. "Come on, boy. You're ours. _Come_."

He couldn't stop even if he wanted to; it's all too much, too much pain, too much overwhelming pleasure, the need to please nearly blinding him. He shivers and gasps, cock jerking in Christian's hand, whole body going tense and tight before release washes over him.

Bill puts a hand on Sean's hip and gently, carefully, backs away and pulls out, making Sean whimper. Bill helps Christian draw Sean forward, too, easing Christian's cock out of him, and they roll him over to the side, Bill to his right and Christian to his left. Sean rolls over until he's spooning Christian, and when Bill curls up behind him, he reaches out to put a hand on Bill's thigh.

"So good," Bill murmurs, nuzzling at Sean's ear. "Such a _damn_ good boy."

"Thank you, sir," Sean murmurs back. "Never done that before."

"You did great," Christian tells him, reaching back and stroking his hand down Sean's leg. "You were great."


	31. Everybody Wants Some

Sean's still got those welts from Viggo on Thursday, though you'd have to be looking pretty closely to see them. He's not hurting anymore, though, and Christian's glad about that--it's not so much that he doesn't think Sean could handle a Thursday lunch with welts that are still bothering him as that it's the _last_ Thursday of the month. Sean's been pretty sure he could handle everything Christian wants to throw at him, but this Thursday is going to be different.

Christian suspects Sean doesn't realize how different it's going to be until they actually walk into the dining room, duffel bag slung over Christian's shoulder. The bag had gotten a raised eyebrow out of Sean, since he's never brought equipment to a lunch, but again--it's the last Thursday of the month.

They're not late, but the dining room's already got more people in it than were at the last two lunches put together. Sean's eyes widen at the sheer number of people walking around, the number of slaves seated or kneeling on cushions. "Is this normal, sir?" he murmurs.

"For the last Thursday of the month? Completely. Some months we've actually had to have someone make seating arrangements."

"You think any of them are going to bid on me?"

Christian knows what Sean's asking--not whether any of them are going to bid on him, but whether anyone's going to outbid Christian and Bill, Viggo, David and Karl, any of the known entities. "I'm sure any number of them will throw in a bid. A lot of them have more than enough money to support multiple slaves, and you'll catch their attention today." He picks out a nice broad table, something heavy and stable with four chairs around it and a cushion at the end. Sean kneels down on the cushions; Christian drops the duffel bag behind his chair, then sits down and slides a hand onto the back of Sean's neck. "Will any of them outbid us? No."

Sean nods slowly, breathing a little easier. "Thank you, sir," he murmurs.

They haven't talked about it much. Christian's been watching Sean closely, looking to see if he seems restless or edgy or frustrated, but he doesn't show any signs of that. For the last week, he's been eager and desperate all over again, much like he was when Christian first met him, and Christian's not surprised at the way he's relaxing under Christian's touch today.

Friday. They can talk about it Friday. As far as Christian's concerned, Sean has the right to some input on his own future, even if the law and his contract with Eclipse say otherwise. Much as he'd hate to give up bidding on Sean, he'd do it if Sean said he was sure they were the wrong fit for him.

He doesn't think that's going to happen, though. He squeezes the back of Sean's neck, and Sean leans into him. "Good boy," Christian murmurs, caressing the side of Sean's neck.

The first person to come over and say hello is another trainer. Her name's Beth; she's got a slave behind her, standing two paces back. "Christian--how are you?"

"I'm fine, Beth, thanks. Have you met Sean?"

"Not yet, but I hear all kinds of good things." She beams down at him. "How are you doing, Sean?"

"Fine, thank you, ma'am."

She turns her attention back to Christian. "I don't know if you'll have time to wander the room today, but if you do, I'd love to get you in on something with my boy--he hasn't had a lot of opportunity to show off with other men, and I think you'd work well together."

Christian takes a more serious look at her boy. He's about Christian's height, slim build, needs a shave--but maybe that's part of the appeal. He also looks like he's about to smirk at any minute, which makes Christian turn back to Beth with raised eyebrows. "How long have you been working with him?"

"He just came back on the market last week. His latest contract was up--six months with Coleman, if you remember him."

"I do." Christian nods. "I'll do my best."

"Don't beat yourself up over it if you can't make it." She looks down at Sean and winks. "You might be pretty busy." Christian's not sure whether she means that to apply to Sean, Christian, or both of them.

He's got a feeling she's right, though, especially when more people start showing up. Bill and Viggo walk in together, and they both wave to Sean and Christian before starting a slow circuit around the room. David and Karl are here, of course, and although they don't make a beeline for Sean, they're standing in front of him within a minute or two of their arrival.

"We've been looking forward to this all week," David says, grinning down at Sean. "Sorry I couldn't make it in to see you during the rest of the week. My work schedule was crazy."

"I understand, sir," Sean says.

"The good news for you is that when you're at home with the two of us, Karl can take care of you even if I'm gone."

Sean looks up at Karl, who licks his lips as he looks Sean over. "I'm sure he could, sir," Sean says.

Christian resists the urge to dig Sean's collar out of the duffel bag and strap it on him here and now; the collar's likely to come out sooner or later, but there's no reason to snarl at David or Karl just yet. He reminds himself that Sean's always liked their attention--a reminder that comes in handy when David nods down at Sean and looks to Christian for permission. "May I?"

It's a pretty vague question, but Christian nods and slides his hand off Sean's neck, giving David more room. "Go ahead."

"Thanks." David doesn't do much, though--he just cups Sean's chin in his hand, rubbing his thumb over Sean's cheek, and then takes to one knee in front of him. "You know, we really didn't realize how good you were with us until we tried spending some time with some other slaves," David murmurs. "I can't wait to have you back at home with us."

"I'm honored, sir," Sean murmurs. David leans in and kisses him briefly, and he bites down on Sean's lower lip as he pulls away. Sean shudders--Christian can't help looking down and noticing that he's getting hard--but then David lets go, stands up again, and nods at both of them.

"We'll see you later on," he tells Sean.

"I'll look forward to it, sir." Sean nods to Karl, too. "Sir."

Christian notices the way Sean watches them as they leave. He slides a hand onto Sean's shoulder and squeezes. It really might be them; they could end up winning the auction on Saturday. He focuses on how Sean looks--eager and hungry and not the least bit nervous or afraid--and tries not to think about it too hard.

A hand comes down on Christian's shoulder and squeezes, and Christian jumps, wheeling around in his chair. He relaxes when he sees it's Bill. "Christ. Sneak up on me, why don't you..."

"You looked a little tense," Bill says, grinning. "Don't be."

"Easy for you to say."

"It is, actually," Bill says. He's still grinning, damn it. He gets down on one knee in front of Sean and grins at him, too. "How's it going, boy?"

"Just fine, sir," Sean says. "Wondering when things are going to get started here."

"Any minute now, I'm sure. You got any idea what to expect from the afternoon?"

"More of what I've been getting the last few weeks, I'd imagine, sir."

"Could be that. Frankly, though, in a crowd this big, I'd be surprised if you get that kind of time with any given owner." Bill looks up at Christian. "You thought about that at all?"

Christian nods. "I was pretty much expecting it."

"My problem is I'm not sure whether I want to be in at the start or the end."

"Why not both?"

Bill rolls his eyes. "Easy for you to say, Mr. Unnaturally-Youthful-Recovery-Time. Anyway, I'll think about it. Got a few people I want to say hello to while I'm here."

"Have fun." Christian smirks down at Bill; Bill comes back up on his feet and bends down to Christian, draping his arms over Christian's shoulders.

"Bet on it," Bill growls, and Christian gets an arm around Bill's back as Bill kisses him, hot and hard and hungry. Christian's grinning ear-to-ear as Bill pulls away, and Bill bends down to Sean, too. Unlike David, he doesn't ask for permission--he just leans in and kisses Sean, and Sean kisses him back, one hand stretching out for a moment as if to touch Bill. He pulls that hand back before he can make contact.

"Touch him," Christian says, and Sean reaches out again, this time without hesitation, putting a hand on Bill's forearm and squeezing. Bill puts his other hand on the back of Sean's neck and holds him still, and when Sean whimpers, Bill backs away slowly.

"I'll be back," Bill murmurs. "And I really want you to come home with us."

"I'd like that, too, sir," Sean whispers. Christian's heart jumps straight into his throat, and he reaches out, squeezing Sean's shoulder. Bill slides his hand over to cover Christian's.

"I'll see you soon," Bill promises. It sounds like he's promising both of them, and when he goes, Christian keeps a hand on Sean's shoulder as they both calm down and catch their breath.

Things are starting to pick up around the room now. It hasn't turned into the kind of free-for-all that Bill's clearly expecting, not yet, but slaves are starting to lose their clothes, and Christian can see a few owners starting to initiate sex--for some it's as simple as a blowjob, for others there are cuffs or clamps or other toys involved.

The first loud _smack_ gets everyone's attention, though, and Christian's surprised to see that it's Bruce--he's got a slave bent over a table in the back, and he's using an old-fashioned wooden paddle on the slave, the kind with holes drilled in so you can swing it faster. Christian whistles; Sean raises himself up on his knees a little so he can see what's going on. He grunts softly and squirms under Christian's hand.

"Does that look good to you?" Christian asks. The crowd's gone back to milling around for the most part, although Bruce and the slave he's paddling definitely have their share of attention. "Would you want a beating like that?"

"Yes, sir," Sean murmurs.

"Down," Christian says, pressing gently on Sean's shoulder. Sean drops back down on his heels and faces forward again. "Have you thought about being paddled that way before?"

"Yes, sir." Sean's starting to blush. Christian slides his hand around to the front of Sean's neck, trailing his fingers over the redness coming up from under his collar.

"Take your shirt off." Sean pulls away just long enough to do that, and Christian slides his hand down the front of Sean's chest. "You know something Bill's into that we haven't done a whole lot of?"

"What's that, sir?"

"Roleplay. There was a guy we took to bed once who'd had this fantasy about being a delinquent-type at a boys' school; Bill set up his office to look like the principal's office, and he bent the guy over the desk and left him just about bruised. Using a paddle just like that."

Sean looks up at Christian, eyebrows drawn together slightly. "I think I'm a little old to pass for a schoolboy, sir."

"That's what fantasy's for, Sean," Christian says, drawing his hand back up Sean's chest and sliding it back around to the back of his neck. "You don't have to be a schoolboy to get off on being treated like one." Sean nods. His tongue comes out and trails over his lips, and Christian bends down so he can put his lips at Sean's ear. "You've got other fantasies, don't you? When you're home with us, we'll see about making some of them happen."

Sean shivers; Christian sits up again. He looks around the room, and when he catches a flash of movement nearby, he zeroes in on someone who's got her eyes on Sean. She's tall, and the heels on her boots make her look even taller; she's dressed in jeans and a black leather corset that zips down the front, and she's got a leather backpack slung over one shoulder. She looks like she might be anywhere from thirty-five to forty-five, but she's got the confidence of someone on the later side of that scale.

"Hi there," she says, once she reaches them. She offers her hand to Christian. "I'm Iris."

"I'm Christian; this is my trainee, Sean."

Iris holds her hand out to Sean, fingertips down; Sean takes her hand gently and kisses the back of it. "Pleased to meet you, ma'am."

"Nice." She scratches her fingernails through Sean's hair. "I thought I'd come over while he was still looking all clean and perky; any chance you'd let me be the first to bend him over that table?"

"Absolutely," Christian says. "Do you have your own gear?"

"I do, unless you'd like me to use something of yours."

"As long as it's clean and you've got a condom on it, whatever you want to use is fine by me."

"Great." She sets her backpack down on the chair across from Christian's, and after a couple of seconds spent digging through it, she's got an impressively hefty dildo, an unlubed condom, and a set of black nitrile gloves out. No harness; she unbuttons the fly of her jeans and tucks the dildo inside, buttoning back up around it.

Christian digs some lube out of his bag--he grabs the water-based stuff that doesn't leave stains and sets it out on the table. She nods. "Thanks."

"You're welcome."

She looks down at Sean, who's been watching all of this with great interest; Christian's not surprised, considering how well Sean did with Maggie last week. She holds the condom out to him. "Go ahead and put this on my dick, Sean."

"Yes, ma'am--mouth or hands, ma'am?"

"Oh, good boy. Use your mouth."

It takes Sean a couple of tries--probably for the size more than the actual difficulty, as getting a condom onto a dildo really isn't that different from getting one onto a cock--but he does manage, and once he has, she cups the back of his head in her hand and draws his mouth forward onto her dick, thrusting in slow and smooth. He groans out loud and puts his hands behind his back, and she chuckles down at him.

"God, I love boys like you." She pulls back, though, and reaches for her gloves. "Up and over the table, boy."

"Strip down first," Christian says. "All the way."

Sean nods and takes his clothes off; Christian catches them and drops them onto one of the empty chairs. He's definitely hard by now, and when he bends over the table, he hisses--the table's got to be cold, and with his cock trapped between the table and his stomach, there's no way that can be especially comfortable.

Discomfort quickly becomes irrelevant, though, because Iris has the lube out, and she slips two black-gloved fingers into Sean's ass, quick and gentle as a whisper, moving them in and out and getting him slippery with a set of easy, thorough strokes. Sean's moaning by the time she's finished, tilting his hips up to try to get more.

"Greedy boy," she murmurs. "Do you have a towel in that bag, by any chance?"

"Of course." Christian pulls one out and tosses it to her, and he signals one of the staff while she cleans her hand off. The staff member nods and promises to be right back with a stack of hand towels; Iris, by now, has her hands clean--she's kept the gloves on--and she presses one of her hands to the middle of Sean's back, holding him down.

"First fuck of the afternoon," Iris murmurs. She kicks Sean's feet apart, and Sean widens his stance. "Ask me nicely for it."

"Please, ma'am, would you please fuck me?" Sean asks, immediate and interested, but nowhere near the kind of desperate Christian's heard from him before.

It's good enough for Iris, though. She angles her dick down and starts working it into Sean's body, getting her hand on his hip once she's in far enough that she can just press forward with her hips and keep going from there. Sean curls his hands around the edge of the table and starts breathing harder--it _is_ a pretty big dildo, and slow as she's going, it's still a firm, relentless press inside.

"Got it," she breathes, sliding her hand up from the middle of his back to the nape of his neck. She grabs him by the hair and tugs his head back slightly. "Now. Beg me for whatever it is you _really_ want."

Sean groans out loud. "Ma'am, please, I--" and to Christian's surprise--and interest--he blushes a little and mumbles out the rest of it. "Please fuck the living hell out of me, ma'am." He tries to let his head sink back down against the table, but her grip's too good; he doesn't quite make it.

"What was that, sweetheart? I couldn't hear you."

Sean clears his throat and licks his lips. "Please fuck me hard, ma'am," he says, a little louder this time.

"I don't think you want it bad enough. Maybe I should just stop here."

"Oh, God, ma'am, no--please fuck me, ma'am, please, just--_hard_, please, ma'am, please--" And there he goes again, back to mumbling. "Please hurt me, ma'am."

"It's funny; I don't remember hearing that you had trouble begging before." She squirms a little, rocks her hips, and Sean groans again, trying to push back against her. Her hand on his hip keeps him in place, though, and he can't get any motion going. "I'm pretty sure I heard that you got four stars for begging and desperation. Did I hear wrong?" She leans down, slowly, carefully--she's not tall enough to put her lips at his ear when she's bent over his back, but it's close. "Or do you just have a hard time begging for _girls_?"

"I don't--no, I--ma'am, please, I _do_ want it, just, please, God, I--I don't know..."

"Maybe I need to walk you through it. How about this: 'Please hurt me with your big dick, Mistress Iris.'"

Christian notices more motion in the crowd, and he's not surprised when Viggo comes up to the table. He doesn't interrupt, but he does watch Iris with narrowed eyes, and a quick look down the front of Viggo's body says he's deeply interested in what she's doing to Sean.

"Please," Sean whispers.

"Louder."

"Please hurt me," Sean says, just barely on the other side of _sotto voce_.

"Come on, boy, you can do better than that--"

Sean's blushing to the roots of his hair now, and he takes a deep breath before _belting_ out the words he's been told to say. "Please hurt me with your big dick, Mistress Iris!"

"_That's_ my boy," Iris says, leaning up again, and she starts moving in hard, fast, and rough, opening Sean up and making him gasp in pain. Viggo reaches out to Christian, who takes Viggo's hand and slides his fingers through Viggo's--and he can't resist; he strokes his thumb down the inside of Viggo's wrist. Viggo jumps and squeezes Christian's fingers harder. It's a really unfair move, really unfair to hit one of Viggo's hot spots like that, but what Iris is doing to Sean is more than just hot, it's absurdly hot, and Christian wants to take that out on someone.

"Again," Iris growls down at Sean. He yelps--all the lube in the world isn't going to protect him from a reaming like she's giving him, one that's powered by strong hips and lots of practice bending boys and girls over things, and it takes him a minute to find his voice again.

"Please, Mistress Iris, hurt me--"

"_Louder._"

"Please, Mistress Iris--_oh, God_\--"

"Does it hurt, boy?"

"Oh, God, yes--"

"You like it?"

"_Yes_," Sean moans, almost sobbing the word out.

"You like being my bitch?"

This time Sean doesn't manage words at all; he just braces himself on the table and tries to shove back against her.

"Here's the part where you find out how nice I am," Iris says. She doesn't slow down at all; she just keeps talking over the thrusts, over Sean's pained grunts. "I'm not gonna let you come--and trust me, that's doing you a favor. You have no idea how many people in this room are watching me and wanting to be _right_\--" a quick snap forward with her hips, followed by a series of them to punctuate her sentence-- "Where. I. Am. Now."

Sean groans again, arching partway up off the table before she shoves him flat on his chest. "Someone else is gonna be a lot meaner than I am, and you're going to come for him, and then they're just going to keep at you, fucking you and hurting you and making you wonder if it's ever going to stop--"

"--Oh, God, please, please, so close, ma'am, oh _God_\--"

Iris stops, going still with her hips pressed up against his. She slides both her hands down his sides and pins his hips to the table.

"Good boy," she murmurs. She eases out of him, slow and careful, and when she's all the way out, she strips off her gloves and untucks her dildo from her jeans, and she stretches out on the table next to Sean, running her hand up and down his back. "Such a good boy. You did great."

He's still catching his breath, but he turns to face her. She brushes the hair off his face and kisses his forehead, his eyebrow, his cheek.

"You're going to be great," she whispers. "I hope I get to see you again."

"Th--thank you, ma'am," Sean whispers back.

Christian glances up at Viggo. "You think it's about that time?" he asks.

Viggo's only got eyes for Sean; he nods and lets Christian's hand go. "No time like now."

"Go ahead, then. You can go next."

Isis picks up her toys and quietly steps aside; Viggo helps Sean roll over on his back. "Hey," Viggo murmurs. "Remember me?"

Sean laughs at that, though he's still getting his breath back. He nods. Viggo puts a hand on Sean's thigh and squeezes lightly.

"You ready for more?"

Sean nods, and he drags his hand across his face almost impatiently. It doesn't look like he's been crying, but Christian understands what he's going through--the tightness in his chest, the way it feels like tears are at the surface, but the overwhelming need to get past them and get _more_.

Viggo knows it better than Christian does, and he takes Sean's nodding at face value. He grabs a condom out of his pocket, shoves his jeans down, and rolls the condom over his cock; Sean squirms down to the edge of the table so Viggo's got an easy shot at him. "Good boy," Viggo murmurs, and with Sean already stretched and lubed, he doesn't bother with any prep himself; he just lets Sean hook his legs over Viggo's shoulders and pushes right in.

He starts off slow, letting Sean get used to it, but once Sean's fully with him--eyes on Viggo's, rocking his hips as best he can to join in the rhythm--Viggo picks up speed, and he wastes no time doing it. He pushes Sean's legs to his sides, reaches forward and grabs Sean by the wrists, and he pins Sean down while driving into him, one fierce thrust after another until Christian can see sweat starting to darken Viggo's shirt between the shoulderblades.

Viggo's still going strong when the next man comes up, and to Christian's utter lack of shock, it's David. "Nice work," he says; Viggo doesn't miss a beat. "It'd look better if I had Karl fucking you while you were fucking Sean."

That gets Viggo's attention; his pace falters, and he adjusts his grip on Sean, hands moving up to Sean's forearms, as he keeps going.

David moves up closer, and Christian's tempted to tell him to back off, but Viggo's more than capable of doing that himself if that's what he wants. Instead, Viggo leans back, just a little bit, against David, and David slips an arm around Viggo's waist.

"That looks so good," he murmurs to Viggo. "Want me to touch him?"

Viggo swallows hard. "I--" He takes a few deep, stuttering breaths. "No," he says, firmly. "But you can keep touching me."

"Fair enough."

Given an inch, David takes a mile. He strokes his hands up and down Viggo's chest, finally stripping his shirt off him; Viggo has to take his hands off Sean to let David do it. David's whispering to Viggo while he touches him, and sometimes Christian can make it out. Sometimes he can't. It slows down Viggo's pace, slows it down until Sean's squirming under him and moaning and pleading, and David chuckles when Sean tries to reach for Viggo.

David reaches up and pinches one of Viggo's nipples, and then he twists it hard to the right, making Viggo yell out, loud and openthroated. He slams into Sean again, slams in harder, drives in until Sean's nothing but a desperate, pleading mess underneath him, and somewhere over that, Christian can hear David growling at Viggo, too.

"I'd take both of you," David's saying. "I'd make you fuck him. Hurt him. I'd make you mark him until he's bruised all over, and then I'd let Karl lick those bruises until he _begs_. And I'd have you first, before Karl got his hands on you, have you until you begged me to let you come, and then Karl would get you, fucking you until you begged him to _stop_, and when you were so fucking used you couldn't bear it anymore, we'd let you take it all out on Sean--"

Gasping, Viggo drives himself into Sean one last time and comes, whole body curling forward as he does. He takes a moment to catch his breath and then slides back, turning around to face David.

"You have balls of solid fucking brass," Viggo pants.

"And you're not afraid of much." David looks down at Sean. "Neither is he. I think I'm next, unless Christian says otherwise."

Christian's tempted to, but he doesn't. He shakes his head. "Go on."

If Sean's expecting something elaborate out of David, he doesn't get it. David's rough, does his best to make it hurt, but he doesn't talk Sean's ear off the way he did to Viggo. Viggo cleans himself up and moves the duffel bag and Sean's clothes off a chair so he can collapse in it, using a second hand towel to dry off his face and the back of his neck. He's watching David like a hawk, but Christian knows that look--Viggo's not angry, not insulted; he's _interested_. Christian tries not to stare, but he loses the battle against playing it cool and ends up reaching into his pants to adjust himself.

David reaches down and gets a hand on Sean's cock. As soon as he starts working it, Sean comes up on his elbows, eyes shut tight. "Sir, please, too close, need to--"

"Good," David growls. "Come, boy."

It doesn't take any more than that. Sean comes with a gasp and a cry, sounding hurt, and Viggo grunts out loud--a sound echoed by Christian's low noise. It'd be impossible to watch Sean coming and hurting like that and _not_ want to be next in line.

But Karl's right there next to David--when he got there, Christian doesn't even know--and he nods to Christian. "Mind if I go next?"

"As long as Wenham's done."

David pulls out; he hasn't come yet, but he nods to Karl anyway. "Go on. I know you've been dying to do this again." David grins at Viggo as he strips off his condom and cleans up the extra lube; he nods down at Karl and Sean. "When Sean was with us, we took turns on him after he came. It was a good long while before he started begging us to stop."

"Oh, fuck, _please_, don't stop," Sean pants. He shifts on the table, feet up on the edge of it, eyes bright as he looks at Karl. "How do you want me, sir?"

Christian grits his teeth together until his jaw aches; this is not the time to pull the brakes on this scene, not when Sean's clearly desperate and begging for it.

Karl grins down at Sean. "Like this is fine. You sure you're ready to hurt this way?"

"Yes, sir!"

Karl doesn't hesitate. He goes in fast and ruthless, rough like no one's been with Sean today, and within less than a minute, Sean's snarling with the pain. David comes around the head of the table and slides his hands onto Sean's shoulders, pinning him down. "Come on," he whispers. "Come on, boy, take it for us. Take him. Open up and let him hurt you."

Sean nods, nods hard, and Christian doesn't realize he's still got his jaw clenched until Bill walks up to him and puts a hand on his shoulder. "Breathe," Bill murmurs.

Christian exhales and gets his mouth open, wincing as he rubs at his jaw. "Thanks," he murmurs back. "Welcome back."

"Glad to be back. Think I might take a turn after these two are done with him, if that doesn't freak you out too bad."

"I was hoping I could give him a break..."

"I don't think that's gonna happen for him today. I think the only way you're going to get this to stop is to pull him off the floor."

Christian winces. "Fuck. You may be right."

"Stay the night tonight. Stay with him."

"You think he's going to need that?"

"I think _you'll_ need it." Bill squeezes Christian's shoulder again. "Wish I could stay, too."

"So do I."

Karl's cruel as all hell, but at least he's quick. Before long, David's ordering him to come, and he does, hands wrapped around the fronts of Sean's thighs, pushing in as deep as he possibly can before letting go.

"We'll see you again on Saturday," David promises, leaning down and kissing Sean's forehead. "Promise."

Sean nods, wordless, but he reaches up and wraps his arm around David's shoulders, hugging him hard. Karl leans down and hugs Sean, too, and Sean hugs him back.

Bill isn't the next one to take Sean after all; he stays at Christian's side as the next man comes up, and the one after that, and the two women who double-team Sean once those two are done with him. Sean's sweating enough to be sticky, lubed and messy all over, but Bill holds his ground, hand on Christian's shoulder, there to tell Christian to breathe when Sean makes sounds that have Christian clenching his jaw all over again.

But when the crowd thins out, when people have moved on, when even Viggo's said his goodbyes, Bill leans down at Sean's side and ruffles a hand through his hair. It's so damp from sweat and tangled from the scenes that he doesn't get very far, and he settles for petting Sean's hair instead.

"You got one more good hard ride left in you?" he murmurs.

"For you, sir?" Sean's hoarse, but his eyes are shining. "Fuck, yeah."

"Good boy." Bill grins at him. "I'm gonna warn you--I don't feel like going easy after all this."

"Wouldn't want you to, sir." Sean nods. "How do you want me, sir?"

"Face-up." Bill helps Sean roll over; Sean grunts softly as his ass hits the edge of the table. Bill pulls him a little closer, pulls Sean's legs up so his calves are up against Bill's shoulders, and slides his hands up and down Sean's thighs; Sean squirms down against him.

"Gimme just a second." Bill pulls away, and Christian's got a condom for him; Bill shoves his jeans down to his thighs and rolls the condom on, giving his cock a squeeze at the base. "You're sticky as hell and even messier than that; you want any more lube, boy?"

Sean shakes his head. "I want to feel you, sir."

Bill has to close his eyes at that; he pushes up against Sean again and gives his thigh a squeeze. "I want to feel you, too," he murmurs, and he starts to press in.

It's not easy for Sean--he grits his teeth and squeezes his eyes shut and pants for breath--but watching him hurting this much for Bill still gets Christian hard enough he has trouble seeing straight. He holds his breath as Bill works his way in, and when Sean finally unclenches his jaw, Christian starts breathing again.

"You want this?" Bill growls down at Sean. Sean nods; Bill shakes his head in response. "Say it. Out loud, boy."

"I want you, sir," Sean whispers. "Please--please fuck me?"

Bill shudders all over and nods, and he gets going--slow at first, but quickly speeding up, not going easy on Sean at all. It's not long before Sean's yelling, before he's damn near losing what's left of his voice from crying out, and Bill's right there with him, one hand moving over his chest, the other hand stroking up and down his leg.

He gets his hand on Sean's cock and squeezes; Sean whimpers. "Think you could come again?"

"Oh, Jesus, I don't know, sir--"

"Let's find out." Bill grins, and he looks over at Christian. "I'm gonna need some more lube for this."

Christian stands up and gets the lube, and as he looks Sean over, he takes a deep breath. Sean's filthy--he's a complete fucking mess--but he's also _gorgeous_, and for all that he's hurting, he looks happy about it. Tired, yeah, but eager to do more.

"Let me?" Christian murmurs to Bill, and Bill nods, sliding his hands out of the way. Christian drizzles lube all over Sean's cock--at this point, there's no reason to be neat about it--and he wraps his fingers around it and strokes him, making Sean nearly come off the table.

"_Master_," Sean pants; Christian's cock jerks, and he wonders if he could actually come without touching himself just from hearing Sean say that one word. He hopes they'll have time to find out. "Oh, God, sir, Master, please, yes, oh God, please let me--please _make_ me--please, God, yes, want--so bad, Master, please, please--"

"More," Christian says, hoarsely, to Bill. Bill nods and speeds up, pounding in harder, and Sean gasps, cock jerking in Christian's hand. "Come on. _More._"

It takes a lot more to get Sean to come again: it takes fucking him until Bill's back has to be sore from it, it takes stroking him until Christian's wrist protests the awkward position he's in--and, ultimately, it takes Christian bending down and growling in Sean's ear, "_Come_, goddamnit!" And finally, _finally_, Sean comes, screaming at first until his voice gives out completely, tears falling down his cheeks, jets streaking over Christian's fingers and adding to the mess, and Bill cries out, too, driving in hard and sharp as he comes, gasping for breath when he's done.

The three of them stay like that, nearly glued to each other, trying to catch their breath, until finally Sean whimpers and squirms and Bill backs away, staggering back and collapsing into a chair. Christian tosses him a towel, and he cleans Sean up as best he can. "You need a hot bath," Christian murmurs. "Are you ready to go upstairs?"

"I'd love to go upstairs, sir," Sean whispers; it doesn't sound like his voice is going to get much above a whisper now. "I just don't think I can move."

Christian chuckles. "Right now, I'd believe you can do anything. I'll help you."

Bill grabs Christian's duffel bag and picks Sean's clothes up, too. "Let me get this for you."

Christian nods at him, and the three of them head out of the dining room, back to the staff service elevator so they won't have to run into anyone on the way back to Christian's suite. The walk's not too long, but Christian ends up supporting Sean all the way there. He settles Sean down on the bed and kisses his forehead before standing up again.

"I'll run that bath," he says. "Stay here with him?"

"I'm not going anywhere," Bill promises. He climbs onto the bed with Sean, duffel bag and Sean's clothes dropped to the side of the bed, and Sean curls up with Bill as Christian goes off to run the bath.

Having two of them around is nice--nicer than Christian would have thought. It means one of them to hold Sean while the other one takes care of anything else Sean might need--something that comes in handy once they get Sean into the bath, too, since one of them can support him while the other actually washes him and gets him clean.

It comes in handy when they're finished with the bath; Bill can wrap Sean up in a towel and help him back to bed while Christian turns the bed down and gets Sean some water.

By the time Christian gets back, Sean's draped over Bill, half-asleep and smiling.

"They're gonna have to get security to pitch me out if they don't want me spending the night," Bill murmurs.

"I don't think we're going to have to worry about that," Christian murmurs back, curling up against Sean's back.

"Have to go through me first," Sean mumbles, nuzzling Bill's neck.

Bill looks over him to Christian and meets Christian's eyes. "I'm gonna bid really fucking high on Saturday," he murmurs. He leans down and kisses the top of Sean's head. "I don't want to lose you."

"Don't want to lose you, either," Sean mumbles. He ends it with a yawn, though, and as Christian holds him--holds _both_ of them--Sean falls asleep.


	32. Tying It Up

It's a silent auction; the slaves are all wearing wristbands with numbers, and as the owners walk around the room, they take note of which numbers they're interested in bidding on. Bids are entered into the media screens scattered around the room, all of which have privacy filters over them; it's as private as Eclipse can make it, when the auction takes place in a room full of a hundred people or so.

There's still over an hour left to go before the final bids are in. Since Bill knows exactly who he's bidding on, he can look Sean up by name--and there's his wristband number, 1664. Perfect. Bill punches in his bid, confirms it with a thumbprint, and pulls up the floorplan so he can find Sean without too much trouble.

Easy, easy, easy. Christian's got a seat next to Sean's platform, and Sean's sitting there, relaxing, watching the crowd and saying hello to people who stop by and introduce themselves. When Bill reaches them, Christian lets out a deep breath--Bill hopes he hasn't been holding it for too long--and Sean grins.

"Hey, Sean," Bill says, stretching out a hand. Sean reaches down and shakes it.

"Hello," he says, grinning. "Good to see you, sir, as always."

"Good to see you, too." Bill smiles. "Getting a lot of attention today?"

"Not like they are over there," Sean says, nodding toward the other half of the room--the other half's where most of the younger slaves are, or the slaves with more experience and longer terms to offer. "But it's been decent."

Across the room, most of the slaves are undressed. Some are performing stripteases as Bill watches; others are showing off all kinds of interesting things. There's a boy so bendy he gets Bill's full attention for several minutes, until Christian reaches out and smacks him on the thigh. Bill jumps and grins back over his shoulder at Sean.

"Not to worry," he says. "I already put our bid in."

"I'm not worried," Sean says. He doesn't look worried; he isn't twitching or shifting or tapping a foot, no obvious tells.

Christian, on the other hand, keeps crossing his arms, then uncrossing them--can't look too standoffish, or it'll reflect badly on Sean--crossing his legs, then sitting up straight, then slouching.

"I think somebody's got you covered on the nervousness front anyway," Bill says. He reaches down and squeezes Christian's shoulder. "You trust me?"

"Yeah."

"Good." He bends down and puts his lips to Christian's ear. "We're not gonna lose him. Have some faith."

Christian takes Bill's hand and squeezes it, and Bill squeezes back. He turns back to Sean and tilts his head. "I should probably back off for a while, though. Let some of the people think they've got a shot."

Sean laughs. "Very generous of you, sir."

"I try." He comes up two steps so he's got a better angle to kiss Sean; Sean leans down and lets Bill cup Sean's face in his hands. "I'll see you when the auction's over. I hope you like our house."

"I'm sure I'll love it, sir." Sean shivers just a little when Bill nuzzles him, but he kisses back in earnest when Bill's lips meet his.

Bill pulls away and heads back down the stairs. "Think I'll take a little walk," he says to Christian. "I'll see you later."

"Wenham's been here. Viggo, of course. I think Bruce is putting a bid in. And--"

"Hey." Bill reaches out and squeezes Christian's shoulders. "We got this. Believe me."

"I know, I just--" Christian shakes his head. "God. Sorry."

"I could tell you the bid I put in, so you'd know just _how_ much we've got this by, but something tells me you don't want to know the exact dollar amount--"

Christian shudders. "No. No, I really don't. But you're sure...?"

"Unless Wenham's sitting on a gold mine I don't know about." For just a fraction of a second, Christian actually looks worried at that. Bill has to stifle his laugh. "Be good to Sean while I'm gone, okay?"

"I can do that." Christian blows out a breath and nods. "I can do that."

"Good." Bill pats Christian on the back one more time and then glances back up at Sean. "Maybe I should be telling you to take care of him instead of the other way around."

Sean grins down at Bill. "Is that an order, sir?"

"It probably should be. Take it easy, Sean. I'll be back before the results go up."

"I'll see you later, then, sir."

Walking around the room, Bill gets an eyeful. He runs into Bruce, who offers Bill a handshake and introduces him to the boy he's been fucking through every available surface the last few Thursdays.

"Bill, this is Chris, and Chris's trainer Paula--Chris, Paula, Bill Fichtner."

"I remember you," Paula says immediately. She takes his hand and smiles. "I think I've trained a few of your slaves over the years."

"Wouldn't be a bit surprised," Bill says. "I've taken a look over at you two from time to time just out of the corner of my eye--your boy looks good. Is this going to be his first contract?"

Paula shoots Chris a look. "Not his first, no, but hopefully it'll be the first one that runs its full term."

_Ouch_, Bill thinks, rocking back on his heels. He looks at Bruce and raises his eyebrows. "Feeling like a challenge?"

"Bidding on one, anyway. We've been getting along pretty well the last few lunches; I figured it was worth a shot." He eyes Chris and grins. "I think I can get something interesting out of him."

"I think you could get damn near anything you wanted out of most people."

"Well, thanks for the vote of confidence." Bruce laughs. "You're going to bid on Sean, I hope?"

"Oh, yeah. Bid's already in."

"I was tempted to bid on him myself in spite of wanting to make sure I got Chris, but I'm not about to get caught up in the bidding war on that one." Bruce laughs. "Might as well put all my eggs in one basket."

"Come by once the dust settles. I'm sure Sean would be happy to see you."

"I'll see what I can do."

"He's not the only one, either, you know. It's always good to see you. Good luck, man." Bill pulls Bruce into a hug, and Bruce gives him a hard clap on the shoulder. Bill waves to Paula and Chris, and then he's off again, wandering the crowd, taking a look at people here and there.

Wentworth's up on one of the platforms, stripped to the waist. The tattoos are still beautiful, but it's clear he hasn't been getting a whole lot of attention today. His eyes light up when he sees Bill, though. "Hey there, sir."

"Hey there yourself, boy. How's it going?"

"Could be better." Wentworth raises an eyebrow. "Don't suppose you're here to check my tag?" He holds out his wrist. "I'm 1822, in case you wondered."

"Man, if I thought we were gonna have the time to give you the kind of attention you deserve..." Bill shakes his head. "I'll make sure to lean on some people. You deserve a good placement."

"I might not go today." Wentworth shrugs. "It's all right if I don't. Being here's not exactly awful for me."

"Good. That's good to know."

"But I'm not gonna look a gift owner in the mouth. Or other orifice. If you're kicking them my way, I'm sure they're good people."

"Hang in there. I know a lot of good people." Bill grins and reaches up; Wentworth pauses but finally shakes his hand. "Hope to see you around."

"You, too, sir."

Wentworth's right; he might not go today. Bill can't check to see how many bids are in on him, since the computers won't give him that kind of data, but it's not unusual for someone to leave here without an owner. Bill makes a mental note to check up on him after a few days and see if he got a contract; if not, he's got a few names in mind. Dominic's always looking for somebody to bend into interesting positions, and there's Amaury--he's just come into enough money to buy his first slave, and Bill's got a feeling they'd get along fine.

Bill's still making a circuit around the room, and he has to duck out of the way fast when the door to the auction room's kitchen swings open; two waiters with champagne glasses are off and making the rounds, offering drinks to hopeful owners. The door swings open again, someone standing in the doorway holding it and looking out at the crowd--and Bill double-takes as he recognizes the man holding the door. "Jason?"

Jason looks just as startled to see Bill as Bill is to see him, but he's got a much faster response time. "Don't block the door," he says. "Get in here."

Bill comes in, and Jason heads back inside, too, finishing off a few trays full of appetizers and shoving them at nearby waiters. "What's the occasion?" Jason asks, grabbing another tray and another plate of sandwiches and getting this one put together, too.

"I'm here to bid."

Jason frowns--Bill can see it even though Jason's not looking at him--and when he finishes off this tray, he stops, leaning against the counter. "Sean?"

"Yeah."

Jason nods, still frowning. "Yeah. I can see that."

"You don't--" Bill glances around. "You got a minute?"

"No. I've got a minute deficit, I can't just--" But he grabs someone nearby and barks a few fast orders at him, and he pulls Bill through the kitchen's back door and into the walk-in. "All right. So you're here for Sean."

Right at the moment Bill doesn't want to talk about Sean; it's been months since he's seen Jason, and the kitchen at Eclipse isn't where he expected to run into Jason again. "Forget about that--how are you?"

"I'm all right. I'm out of the slavery business. Working the kitchen here--I'm actually one of the head chefs. I'm living on the grounds right now while I save up some money for a place of my own."

"That's great. I'm happy for you, man."

"Ironic timing, though, with you just getting back into the game."

Bill winces and draws a hand over his face. "Yeah. Yeah, it is."

The silence is awkward, heavy enough you could cut it with one of the knives Jason probably has tucked away somewhere. Jason crosses his arms over his chest and rocks back on his heels. "So how did this happen?" he asks. "Christian asked you to buy Sean or you met him at a lunch or..."

"Christian kept coming home looking like something was eating away at him, and we talked about whether bringing Sean home was the right thing to do or not. I met Sean, and we talked some more. You want the truth, I think Christian's still not a hundred percent comfortable with the idea of being somebody's owner, but we're gonna work it out."

Jason nods a few times, looking down at the floor. "Good--good for you, then. Good for Sean. All of you. I hope it works out."

Bill winces. "I'm sorry--"

"No, don't. I mean it, damn it--I'm honest-to-God fucking happy for Sean. He deserves somebody who's going to do things right." Jason exhales hard and tilts his head back, looking up at the ceiling for a minute. "You can't really blame me for wishing Christian had been at this point about four years ago."

"I don't blame you," Bill says quietly. "I wish he'd been there back then, too."

"Yeah." Jason's still looking anywhere but at Bill, and he shakes his head. "I was so damn tempted to look you up when my contract finally expired. And then there's Christian, sitting in the restaurant with this slave who's looking at Christian like he hung the moon, and I find out maybe he's going home with you and Christian at the end of the month, and God, I try not to regret the way things worked out--I've got no complaints about the years I spent with Viggo--but..."

"Come see us," Bill says, reaching out a hand. Jason doesn't step away, so Bill puts that hand on Jason's shoulder, puts his other hand on Jason's other shoulder and gives them a squeeze. "You're free now. You don't have to do anything you don't want to do. But if you want to--come see us."

"Maybe in a few months." Jason looks back at Bill, finally. "You're going to have a full house for a while. I don't want to get in the way."

"When you're ready, then."

Jason reaches out and pulls Bill in for a hug, and Bill hugs him back hard. Pulling away isn't easy--and from the way Jason clings for a minute before letting go, Bill suspects it's not so easy for him, either--but Jason's got a job to do, and he heads back out to the kitchen to get going on the trays again. Bill lets himself out; he hopes like hell Jason comes to see them, even if it's not right away.

Once he's out of the kitchen, Bill glances around the room. He's still got one more person he'd like to see while he's here, but strangely enough, he's seen hide nor hair of Viggo all day long. He shrugs and leaves the auction hall, heading out to check his voice mail and messages--for all he knows, something came up, and Viggo's voting by proxy.

No messages, though, so Bill heads back for the auction hall. He gives it another pass, stopping in and saying hi to owners he knows, to slaves he's met over the years, ones who are just going back on the market.

When he gets back to Christian and Sean again, he raises his eyebrows. "Hey--you said David and Viggo were both here. Where the hell are they? I can't find either one of them."

Christian blinks. "No idea. Maybe they're gone. You don't have to be here to win..."

"No, you don't, but those two? I think they'd stay to see the results."

"You could check the dining room. The men's room." Christian rolls his eyes. "Some dark corner in the staff hallway, if Wenham finally managed to talk Viggo into something..."

"David was punching Viggo's buttons kinda hard yesterday," Bill murmurs. "I'll take a look around. Thanks."

"Just make sure you're back here when they make the announcements."

Bill stops off at the men's room first. Like all the public restrooms here, the stalls are huge, separated floor-to-ceiling with solid granite walls, and the doors have good locks--but they've also got angled slats, so somebody determined can get a look at who's inside. It's a great place to hook up with people; God knows Bill's done it often enough.

There's some noise coming from the end stall, and Bill heads over to see if he can make out who it is.

Christian's guess was a good one. Bill can make out one blond head, one guy with brown hair, and someone on his knees between them.

He gives a quick rap to the door. "It's Bill."

The door swings out, and Karl raises an eyebrow. "I think we could fit four if we were really trying. What do you think, sir?"

Viggo's the one on the floor, and Bill's not really all that surprised at this stage. He's sucking David off, fast and quiet, and David doesn't even bother to respond to Karl's question--he's too busy dragging Viggo forward and making him choke. Bill forces his eyes off them and nods back at Karl.

"Think I'll take a pass. Vig, look me up when you get a chance."

"Don't know if he heard you," Karl says, leaning back against the opposite wall from David, arms crossed over his chest. "I'll pass the message along, if he didn't."

"Thanks."

"Got your bid in, did you?" Karl loses a little of his smirk at Bill's sharp look. "Sir."

"In and done."

"Hope you'll let us visit him. There's a list of things as long as my arm that I wanted to do with him--" Karl glances down at his arm and makes a fist; Bill looks with him, and it doesn't take long to catch his meaning. "_Exactly_ as long as my arm, in fact."

"I bet," Bill says, grinning. "We'll have to work our way up to that."

"And if you need someone extra around the house now and then--" Karl shrugs. "Just because I'm not normally a bottom doesn't mean I don't know how to lick boots when I'm told."

"I bet you do."

David's breath hitches up hard in his chest, and he slams into Viggo's mouth, holding tight as he grunts, very softly, and then finally, slowly, exhales and sinks back against the wall. Viggo pulls away, rubbing at his throat, coughing, but when he looks up at Bill, his eyes are bright like Bill hasn't seen them in a while.

Bill drops to one knee in front of Viggo. "You good here?"

Viggo tries to rasp out an answer, but nothing comes. He meets Bill's eyes and nods, though, and he glances from Karl to David and back again. He gives Bill a wry grin and shrugs.

"We'll catch up sometime soon," Bill says. He leans in and gives Viggo a hug, and Viggo hugs him back, hard, in return. As Bill lets himself out, Karl's unbuttoning his pants, and Viggo's turning around on his knees. Bill shakes his head as he leaves the restroom. Viggo subbing again. There's something he wasn't expecting. Then again, he supposes, neither was Viggo.

He checks his watch. About five minutes left to go before the results come in; he heads back for Sean and Christian and sits down on the steps leading up to Sean's platform. "Found them," Bill says.

"Where?" Christian asks.

"Men's room. All three of them." Bill looks around; too many people too close for him to feel comfortable explaining out loud. "Viggo's fine. They're all fine. I'll tell you about it later."

That's really all the explanation Christian needs, though; he shakes his head and blinks a few times. "There's a surprise for you."

"Bigger than us walking out of here with a contracted slave?"

Christian looks at Bill and finally shakes his head. "Probably not as big a surprise as that, no."

"God. Both of you--is it a done deal yet or not?" Sean asks. He looks around at the screens, but between the distance and the privacy filters, it's impossible to see anything from here.

Bill pulls out his phone, though, and taps into the buyer's network. There's a countdown running, and as he hands the phone over to Sean, the countdown hits three... two... one... and then there's a soft sound of chimes, from Bill's phone and everyone else who's got a phone tapped into the network, and a lower set of chimes from the screens around the room. There's a quick rush as people move to the screens, but Bill just takes his phone back from Sean, enters Sean's number into it, and hands it over again.

"Jesus _Christ_," Sean says, sounding choked. Christian spins around and looks from him to Bill, eyes wide.

"Tell me we got him--"

"Oh, we got him."

"Is that number _real_?" Sean asks.

"Yeah--Oh, God, don't tell _him_ what I spent on your contract, he doesn't want to know."

Christian fidgets. "Well, after that, I sort of do..."

"Maybe later." Bill takes his phone back from Sean, who's looking a little pale. "Keep in mind we do a second-price auction here. That's one dollar above what the second highest bidder offered for you."

"God." Sean drops his head into his hands. "I wasn't--that's a hell of a lot to--" His head snaps up again. "What the fuck did you _actually_ bid?"

Bill shakes his head and reaches out for Sean, who gets his arms around Bill and hugs him hard. Christian comes up on the stairs with Bill, wrapping an arm around Bill's back, and he stretches an arm up so he can hold onto Sean, too. He leans in and rests his head against Bill's shoulder.

"A hell of a lot," Bill murmurs. "But nowhere near what you're really worth."

_-end-_


End file.
